There Must Be A Second Time
by r4ven3
Summary: Set some time early in S10. Not true to plot. Chiefly a H & R story. Somewhat AU. Follows on from my recent story, "Love In Ruins". Can stand alone, but makes more sense if you read "Love In Ruins" first.
1. Chapter 1

_**This story follows on where "Love In Ruins" left off. It can stand alone, but may be better if you read "Love In Ruins" first. Set in the first half of S10, not following the scripted plot. There is a context, a story behind this, but that is secondary to the main story. The driving force, is H & R. Not sure yet how many chapters.**_

**oOo**

Ruth had barely had time for her feet to touch the ground. Since she and Harry had been led out of the ruined kitchen of the Russian embassy three days ago, life on the Grid had been both frantic and exhausting. Ruth's intel had led she and Harry to entering the Russian Embassy, along with Dimitri and an armed squad from CO19. Looking back to that day, Ruth is now not sure why it was she saw it necessary for she and Harry to be there at all. Dimitri certainly, CO19 definitely, but she and Harry? The situation was about as under control as it could have been, given the absence of adequate warning. Harry's intention had been to personally inform the Gavricks of probable danger, but he had been too late. The bomb had detonated before they had had a chance to get anywhere near the Gavicks. Although their bodies had not yet been found, it had been assumed that Ilya, Elena and Sasha Gavrick had all perished in the blast, the cleanup of the site still being in progress. British-Russian relations were tenuous at best, but the deaths of the Gavriks was bound to blow apart any possibility of an agreement with Russia in the foreseeable future. As much as Ruth had been dreading further contact with the Gavrick family, she would not have wished their deaths upon them. The Home Secretary was fuming, his plan for an Anglo-Russian agreement having been foiled before it had even begun.

Ruth feels partially responsible, but also considers that she acted appropriately on the intelligence which came her way. She is reluctant to go back over it, fearful she'll find some minor detail she'd overlooked. The days since have been spent in gathering more information – chiefly through tracking bank account and encrypted email activity – and the closer she gets to the source, the closer she gets to the likelihood of US funding of Serbian mercenaries and Chechan terrorists hell bent on destroying any links Russia may forge with the Western world. It is a convoluted mess which she'd rather not know about, although she has kept Harry informed every step of the way. They are both in work mode, the events immediately following the bombing having been put aside for now. There will be time for that later.

_3 days earlier: _

Harry and Ruth followed their rescue worker out of the ruins of the embassy kitchen. Apart from a little muscle stiffness from being in their cramped position, they were both remarkably unharmed, although their clothes were dusty, and Harry's suit jacket was torn in several places. They were still in post-coital mode, and had their coupling been in any way normal, they would still have been lying together in one another's arms, basking in the euphoria of what they had managed to do without having talked themselves out of it. They each felt raw and exposed, like the whole world would be able to read from their faces how they'd spent their time after the bomb had detonated and the building collapsed around them. Side by side, and close but not touching, they walked towards the street where a crowd of journalists, photographers, TV crews and curious onlookers gathered. There was a reluctance in their walk, and suddenly their hands brushed, and Harry grasped her hand in his. They momentarily stopped and turned to look at one another, knowing that the spell they'd created together was about to break, and they were about to be thrust headlong into the world, a pair of newborns squalling at the unfamiliarity of the light, sounds and smells. With her free hand Ruth brushed a fragment of plaster from his hair. He squeezed her hand and she squeezed back, the look which passed between them saying: _Do not forget what we did today. There _will_ be a second time, there _must_ be a second time._

"Harry! Ruth!" Dimitri's voice had drawn their attention from each other to him, relieved that they could legitimately avoid the journalists with their hand-held microphones, hungry for any snippet of news from inside the embassy. "My car's here. I'll drive you," Dimitri added. And with that, they were whisked away.

Harry and Ruth had sat together in the back seat of Dimitri's car. They still held hands, unashamed to be seen doing so, reluctant to break the connection they had only so recently made. Dimitri, checking them in the rear view mirror, noticed their silence and the invisible cloak of privacy which they had drawn around themselves. He concluded that they were both still in shock. Not once did he consider that while they were waiting to be rescued, not only had they made love, but it had been their first time. Dimitri had always assumed they'd been doing it for years.

"Take us back to Thames House," Harry said, his voice cutting through the silence inside the car.

"Sorry, Harry," Dimitri said, his eyes meeting Harry's in the mirror. "I have orders to take each of you home, and neither of you are to come in to work until tomorrow - at the earliest. Towers wants you each to see the section doctor in the morning ... as a precaution. You know ... shock and all that."

"But Dimitri -" Ruth began.

"No buts, Ruth. My arse is on the line if I fail to get you each home pronto. It's a direct order from Towers. He's seriously pissed off that you were even there in the first place."

They reached Ruth's house first. As Dimitri got out of the car to open Ruth's door, Harry leaned across and met her lips with his, a soft kiss to confirm to them both that what had happened that afternoon had not been a shared fantasy, but something real and raw and remembered. In a way it was all they had, the true horror that was the destruction of the Russian embassy still not having found its way into their conscious minds.

"You'll be OK at home alone?" he whispered, his lips still close to her own.

"Yes," she whispered back. "I'll need time to …... sort everything out."

"Ring me if you need anything. Anything at all."

She nodded, aware that her door was open, and that Dimitri would be politely looking anywhere but at them in an attempt to give them some privacy. Ruth briefly touched Harry's lips with her own before sliding across the seat and stepping out of the car.

Alone in the back seat of Dimitri's car, Harry felt like part if himself had been ripped away. He sank back into the upholstery and closed his eyes. In his mind's eye all he can see is her.

Once she was home, Ruth rang Tariq, chiefly to check up on him.

"I just wanted to tell you what I was working on, so you can follow the lead I had in connecting the Chechans to the CIA slush fund."

"All in order, Ruth. Harry's already rung me and chewed me out. I can handle this. You're meant to be resting."

Ruth knew that she should shower, and perhaps try to sleep, but she couldn't settle, and she was reluctant to shower. She could still smell Harry on her skin, and she could still feel him inside her. She didn't want to wash that away, or to cover the scent of him with soaps and lotions. She stood in her kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil, her eyes closed, remembering how Harry's hands had travelled over her skin, a drowning man searching for his salvation.

Several miles away, in his own home, Harry was experiencing a similar dilemma. He ought to ring Towers, but that would have to wait. He'd rung Tariq and then Calum, then he lay on his back on his bed, and let his mind wander. He wondered what she was doing at this moment, and whether her thoughts were of him. It seemed bewildering to him that their turbulent personal relationship had led to what happened today. They both knew that if they were ever to sort things out between them – their past, their misunderstandings – they needed to talk. Only then would a proper and full relationship seem possible. And then today had happened, and as spontaneous and quick as it was, it had seemed so right. He could still feel her body close to his, her breath on his bare chest, her hands as they moved over his body, her soft, warm centre in spasm around him as she came. Then he noticed that he had slipped his hand into his pocket, so that his fingers were stroking the material of her knickers, the ones he had torn off her in his hurry to be inside her. He quickly took his hand out of the pocket, suddenly ashamed of his drives, his longing for her. At the time he'd taken her underwear from her and put it in his pocket, he'd told himself that he was clearing the site of evidence. Ruth had known differently, and so had he. Who was he kidding?

His thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of his mobile.

"Pearce."

"Harry, have you watched the news?" It was her. He felt his heart rate increase, and his lower abdomen spasm.

"No, not yet."

"Turn it on. News24."

They made small talk while he went downstairs to the living room. The words they exchanged were the predictable kind – the how-are-you's, and the have-you-managed-to-sleep-yet's - none of which is what they really want to be talking about. The words they each long to say to the other may remain forever unspoken. Harry grabbed the remote from the coffee table, and switched on his TV.

"Mute the sound," she said, "and just watch it."

He did. The embassy bombing was the top news story, and images of the destroyed building, and rescue workers climbing over the rubble filled the screen. Then he sees himself and Ruth being led from what is left of the building. They are in the distance, and he only recognises them from the clothes they were wearing. In the next shot they are closer, then there is a cut to the reporter, before the camera captures the moment when he took her hand in his, and they looked into one another's eyes, their heads each inclined slightly towards the other. Then Ruth lifts her had to brush something from his hair. Even through the lens of the camera, it is clear that they are exchanging something fragile and intensely personal, some secret only they share. Harry is certain that anyone who sees this footage will know they are more than just colleagues, even more than friends. He breathes out heavily.

"Harry?" She's still at the other end of the phone. "I just thought you needed to see that. There... may be ... repercussions."

"What we do together is no-one's business but ours, Ruth."

"I agree with you in principle, but we need to be prepared, all the same. I'm thinking that Towers may have something to say about it."

"Mmm." He considers his next words to her, aware that in the following days there will be few opportunities for personal conversations between them. "Do you regret what happened today?"

"Do you mean the bomb detonating, or the sex?" she said.

"I think we both know what I mean, Ruth. The bombing was a tragedy, and regrettable, but the sex ... I have no regrets at all about that. I was just wondering about you."

The silence which followed sent him into a temporary state of panic. Had she had no regrets, she would have said so immediately, surely. Which must mean …...

"I have no regrets at all, Harry," she said quietly. "I'm surprised you had to ask."

"It was something of a heat-of-the-moment thing. I was afraid you'd thought me...too forward... that I should have exercised some self-control."

"You see, this is a fundamental problem between the sexes. It was clear to me that you were aroused. It would have been impossible to miss it, but what you couldn't tell was that I was just as aroused as you. I was the one who made the first move, or have you forgotten?"

"No...I haven't forgotten. I haven't forgotten anything." And after a very charged silence of almost a minute, during which they each remembered what they hadn't forgotten, "But a man with an erection is hardly subtle, is it?"

Ruth laughed softly into the phone. "No, not terribly. But it was rather flattering, all the same."

Harry breathed into the phone, and he could hear her on the other end, breathing back. "Have you showered?" The words were out of his mouth before he'd had a chance to hold them back. He _really_ wanted to know, though. She would either answer honestly, or she would shut down, her way of running away, which was his also. They were a pair, alright.

"No," she replied. "I can't. I mean, I don't want to. Not yet."

"Me neither. I've changed my clothes because my suit was a wreck, but I haven't wanted to..."

"Wash it all away?"

"Yes." Harry whispered. He could feel himself harden. No other woman has ever affected him in the way she does. In some ways this frightens him. This gives her power over him, and he is a man who likes to be in control.

"But I'll have to shower some time tonight. I can't go in to work tomorrow with dust in my hair." _Or the smell of your semen on my inner thighs_, she thought.

"Likewise," he replied. It was as though, having reached this level of disclosure and intimacy, they were free to get on with their separate evenings. Rome hadn't been built in a day, and nor would their relationship. They had made significant inroads that day, and that would have to be enough for now. "I'd better go," he said. "I can feel the vibes from Towers. Any minute now he'll be ringing me to give me a bollocking."

"Yes, I know." And after another long silence, neither wanting to be the first to hang up, "Harry, we _will_ do it again. We _can_ ….. change things between us. We can't just go back to being the way we've always been. Not now."

"I know, Ruth. We'll have to have a plan next time. No bombings. It will be special."

"Today was rather special, though, don't you think?"

"That's something of an understatement." As much as Harry wanted the conversation to go on for the rest of his life, he had to begin getting his head into work-mode, as did she. "Goodnight, Ruth. Sweet dreams."

"Goodnight Harry." And then she hung up.

He sat on the sofa, the TV still on, the images from the ruins of the Russian Embassy still sending light flickering across his face and the walls of his darkened living room. He passed his phone from one hand to the other and back again. How had this happened so quickly? What was it that had allowed them to each – on the same day and at the same time – let down their walls to allow the other in? They had not planned it - it had simply happened. Harry viewed it as a miracle, one which was still delicate and new, but had given birth to itself in the most stressful and extraordinary of circumstances. They'd run to that kitchen fearing they were about to die, when without knowing it, they'd been about to begin living.

Suddenly Harry's phone rang, and he answered it in his usual way.

"Harry," said Towers, his voice smooth and only very slightly slimy. "What the _fuck_ is going on?"


	2. Chapter 2

_**Thank you all who reviewed both "Love In Ruins" and the first chapter of this story. Your reviews leave me feeling inspired to dive feet first into the next chapters. This story now looks like being 6-7 chapters long.**_

**oOo**

"Harry," said Towers, his voice smooth and only very slightly slimy. "What the _fuck_ is going on?"

"You'll have to be more specific than that, Home Secretary," Harry replied, steeling himself for the bollocking of a lifetime, while at the same time trying to keep the sarcasm in check, no easy task.

"Do I have to draw you a picture? You were reinstated after that Albany fiasco especially to protect these people, only for them to be blown to bits on your watch. Do you have any idea how much of a right royal balls-up this is? The Prime Minister is apoplectic, and you know what a dodgy ticker he has. You really do not want his death on your conscience, Harry."

"With respect, Home Secretary, firstly we don't know if they have been killed, and secondly, our intelligence had continually pointed to tomorrow night's reception at Bannon Hall as being the time and the place where Ilya Gavrick was to be assassinated. Today's bombing was not evident until less than an hour prior to the bomb's detonation."

"Don't give me excuses, Harry. Give me results. This has been the worst possible outcome for the Russian visit, and the flow-on effects for the British economy moving forward are potentially calamitous."

_And it won't do your career much good either, William_, Harry thought.

"At this time it is far too soon to even speculate as to who is responsible, although all indicators so far point to the US." Harry said, using all the self control he could muster.

"Don't give me that CIA v FSB bollocks, Harry, this isn't the cold war. Spy v Spy – Christ, anyone would think you'd wasted your youth reading _Mad_ magazines. Find someone, anyone, and lock them up. We need bums in cells."

"My people are on to it as we speak, Home Secretary. And as you well know, I'm not on the Grid until tomorrow."

"Yes, yes, yes, I know that. And while I have you on the line, Harry, what in the name of all that's British were you and Ruth Evershed doing today canoodling in full view of the whole world? She's your analyst for Christ's sake!"

"Ruth and I had just survived the bombing of the embassy. We were still inside the building at the time of detonation. It was a …... terrifying experience for her."

Towers' tone suddenly softened. "I know how you feel about her, Harry, it's written all over your face whenever she's with you, but you must surely have known the media would be there."

"At the time it was the furthest thing from our minds, Home Secretary. My chief concern was for my analyst."

"That's perfectly obvious from the news footage. And about Ruth Evershed -"

And so it went on – for another twenty minutes. Towers would drive the ball right down the centre line, and Harry would scramble to reach it and lob it back. By the time Towers was finished with him, Harry had a headache, and his magical interlude with Ruth seemed to have happened in some parallel existence. Real Life had intervened. He thought of ringing her, just to hear her voice, but did not want to risk tainting something still so fresh and so fragile. He'd always had to deal with his responsibilities and difficulties on his own, and it was a hard habit to break. He let his body sink into the sofa and closed his eyes. All he could hear was the muffled boom of the explosion, followed by the sounds of disintegrating masonry and tumbling metal all around him. All he could see was her. He tasted dust in his mouth, and then he tasted her. He felt her warm curves against his body as she lay in his arms. He stayed that way, holding inside him his memories of her, until he was almost asleep.

_9 days after the bombing:_

As busy as they both still were, only ever free to exchange the occasional look of longing or knowing across the Grid, Harry and Ruth and the team were at last getting on top of the aftermath of the bombing. A tragedy of course, but it had also brought much into the open, and Harry felt the need for talking with Ruth in private. From his office behind the wall of glass he caught her eye. He inclined his head towards the door and mouthed `roof', to which she nodded.

She managed to get there before him. Having opened the door and stepped on to the roof, he momentarily stood and watched her, her body silhouetted against the cityscape, and he briefly wondered how Lord Byron would have described her. He took his place to her left, and like her, leaned against the balustrade. Their bodies were close, but not touching. He was sure she'd be able to hear his heart thumping against his ribcage.

"The results of the DNA tests are in," he said. "The charred body they found in the conference room is Sasha Gavrick's. They matched his DNA with his parents. It's fortunate for us that their bodies at least were easy to identify."

Ruth immediately looked up at him, concern in her face. Harry's confession to her that Sasha Gavrick was his son had temporarily come between them, but that had been before the bombing.

"He was Ilya's son after all," Harry continued, looking out at the city. "Elena lied to me, which means I can't believe anything else she's ever said."

"Nineteen other people died that day, not only the Gavricks," Ruth said. "Their lives were important too."

Harry looked down at her, his breath catching in his throat as he did so. "I know. But I refuse to feel guilty because you and I were... enjoying ourselves ….. while people were dying around us."

"Who said anything about guilt, Harry? What we did was natural, and quite healthy, as it turns out."

"I'm not arguing with that."

Ruth looked back at the city laid out before them. "In the second world war – during the Blitz – we hear all about the looting that took place, but there was sex, Harry, and lots of it. In the air raid shelters, couples had sex in full view of others. When life is tenuous - when people are in danger - to have sex, even with a stranger, is life affirming. I read somewhere that when we are in a situation from which we may not emerge alive, sex is the instinct we all have to ensure the preservation of the species."

Harry looked across at her sharply. "Speaking of preserving the species -"

"It's alright. I took the morning after pill ... the next day. And then I went on the pill. Under the circumstances I thought it best."

Harry smiled at her and nodded, another weight off his mind.

"I'm just glad that it was you I was with, and not ….. some stranger," Ruth continued.

"Or Dimitri," he added quickly.

"Heaven forbid!" Ruth replied, embarrassed by the mental image. "And the perpetrators?" she added. "What about them?"

"Thanks to you and Tariq we have those who built and set the bomb. MI6 have them in custody, but the brains behind it ... I believe he's long gone."

"Jim Coaver?"

"Probably, but he would not have acted alone. We may never know. International relations between the UK, US and Russia have been put back a decade or more. We'll still play the game with the US, but the trust is gone, and Towers blames MI5, but me mainly."

"Harry, that's not fair. It was me who made the connection between the chatter and the Russian embassy, and by that time it was already too late to prevent it."

"Without your work, Ruth, the bomb would have gone off without us having any prior knowledge at all, and upwards of forty people would have died." He sighed heavily. "Towers wants to poach you from me, you know."

"Poach me?"

"He wants you working for him. He hasn't said as much, but the signs are there. _She needs to be working somewhere she's valued_, were his words. You can expect a dinner invitation from him any day now. You know he'll offer you much more money than you're being paid here, and there'll be no field work, and normal hours."

"He hasn't approached me yet. Until then, we're speculating."

They stood in silence, suddenly aware they were standing only inches away from one another, and so far they hadn't touched. Ruth felt the need to speak her mind, since there may not be another opportunity for some time.

"Harry," she began, "I've been doing a lot of thinking -"

"You haven't changed your mind, have you?"

"About us? Of course not. On the contrary, I'm beginning to see things differently. I think the shock from the bombing must have realigned my brain cells." She looked up at him to find him smiling down at her. "I used to think," she began, looking across at the skyline, "that in order to be with you ... in order to commit to you, I had to... know you ... all of you ...your history, everything you'd done, every decision, every flaw, every secret. I'd believed I had to weigh and measure it all before I could decide who you really are. Now ….. since the bombing and ... what happened afterwards ... I can see quite clearly that what's important ...what I need to know about you...is what I already know. I know that you've killed people, and had affairs, and used people, but it's all been done out of need... to protect your country... your operatives, and those you care about." She took a breath before she continued. "The Harry I know and love is proud, and loyal, and fiercely protective, and honourable...and decent. It's your decency I love the most."

She hesitated before continuing, and Harry knew better than to interrupt. He had waited too long to hear her speak to him in this way, so for how long it took her to tell him was how long it was going to take.

"I know that I was angry with you for giving away Albany to save me. I was so harsh when I spoke to you after you came back. I had the gall to tell you it was unfair to love me, and I know that my words hurt you. And then after you left the Grid to meet Lucas, I was so distraught ….. that what I'd said to you may have led you to ... being killed. At the time I'd thought your going off to die like that was heartless and cruel. I'm sorry for what I said. I know now why you acted as you did. I jumped to the wrong conclusion. Harry -"

Harry had reached his hand across to cover her left hand. Very slowly he lifted his hand, and feathered his fingers along her fingers, from the tips to the knuckles. His touch sent a shiver through her being, ending up in a tingling beneath her ears. Then with his index finger he gently stroked her middle finger, from tip to knuckle, and then back again. There was something so intimate about this that Ruth felt naked, standing here next to him, dressed for the cold, in woollen coat, long skirt and boots. She dare not look at him. All was sensation, all was right here, right now. There was nowhere else. Nothing else existed, nothing but the two of them. The world outside this roof space had diminished and suddenly fallen silent.

From the corner of her left eye she saw him turn towards her, but still she gazed ahead towards the jagged geometry where the buildings met the sky. To look at him right now was just too much for her. He took her left hand in both of his, turning her hand over until her palm faced upwards. With his left hand he folded her fingers back over her palm, and with the index finger of his right hand he caressed her palm lightly, a feather touch. Ruth breathed in quickly, her whole body ignited by his touch. After a while she noticed that his finger had begun a rhythmic dance across her palm, from the heel to the base of her fingers and back again. It was only then she turned to face him. His eyes were alight with ... something. A question? lust? love? Standing so close as they were, on the roof in the cold air of a late London afternoon, they again became one, their hands linked in an act of love.

Neither of them noticed Erin open the door to the rooftop. She stood for a moment with the door slightly ajar, taking in the couple standing close to one another against the balustrade, their hands intertwined, connecting their bodies as intimately as if they were making love. After the bombing, Dimitri had confessed to her that he was sure Harry and Ruth were secretly married. Watching them now, in their bubble of oneness, she was equally convinced that they were not. They were courting, of that she was certain. `Dating' was too blatant a term for Harry and Ruth; too commonplace, too crass. Theirs was a courtship. Harry was wooing Ruth, and the evidence was right in front of her. God knows, they had little enough time alone together, she was not about to interrupt them just because the Home Secretary wished to speak with Ruth. She quietly closed the door and retraced her footsteps, her mind busily concocting the excuse she was going to give Towers.

Neither Harry nor Ruth had been aware of Erin at the roof door. Suddenly Harry's finger came to rest against her palm. "I ache for you," he whispered, his eyes searing hers. "I ache for you here -" he touched his temple, "and here -" and then his heart, "and here -" he said as he placed his hand over his genitals. "Every minute of every day I want you." He grasped her hand in his, linking their fingers. He then took their linked hands and slipped them inside his coat, turning her hand over so that her palm rested against his beating heart. Ruth felt her own heart thumping rapidly against her ribs. "I've thought about this," Harry continued in a quiet voice. "We're both due some time off. What if we apply for a week off together? We can go away somewhere, away from London, somewhere that doesn't have a phone."

"But that could be weeks away. I'm not sure I can wait that long."

"I'm thinking about our second time, Ruth. We need for it to be romantic, careful, gentle. No bombs, no dust, no noise, a soft mattress and a door with a lock."

Ruth smiled at his list of requirements. They were hers also.

"Perhaps that could be our third time," she suggested. "I think we need to bring this second time forward a bit. We're both a bit..."

"Edgy?" he said. Ruth nodded her reply. "Randy?" he suggested, and she smiled up at him.

Ruth slowly circled her fingers over his heart. "My place. Tonight. Bring a change of clothes for tomorrow."

"And I'll pick up some dinner," he added quickly, before she changed her mind. "Cambodian?"

"Anything," she added. "You choose. 7:30?"

"I'll be there."


	3. Chapter 3

_**Thanks again for your lovely reviews. They make this process worth it. **_

_**Again, I make no excuses for blatantly mentioning the brand and variety of an Oz wine, and again, it is readily available in UK...and I have no connection at all with any winery, here, there or anywhere else.**_

_**oOo**_

_9 days after the bombing (continued):_

The Home Secretary had rung back just as Ruth was about to leave the Grid for the day.

"Can we talk, Ruth?"

"Of course, Home Secretary."

"Will you have dinner with me? Tomorrow night. I have an offer which I think may interest you."

"How about I come by your office tomorrow? My evenings are fully booked, I'm afraid."

"That's unfortunate for me, of course. Either Harry is working you far too hard, or he's...well, that's not for me to comment on, I suppose."

"No, it's not, Home Secretary."

"Tomorrow it is, then. I'll have my secretary ring you in the morning. Good night, Ruth."

"Good night, Home Secretary."

Home at last, Ruth stood under the shower, luxuriating in the almost-too-hot water which spilled over her. She had soaped herself all over, imagining Harry's hands touching her in all those places, the places they'd not had time to explore during their first time. Tonight will be like after the bombing, but with a meal, a warm and comfortable bed, total privacy, and all the time they need.

She dressed carefully, ensuring her bra and knickers matched, then added a mid-calf length skirt, a pale blue t-shirt with a scooped neck, and a lilac overshirt tied at the waist – not seductive, but practical and comfortable. After all, she had no need for seducing Harry; he was already hers. Ruth thought back to the weeks following his poorly timed proposal after Ros's funeral. She cringed when she remembered the words she'd later spoken to him: _`We couldn't be more together than we are right now.' _ What patronising twaddle! At the time she'd wanted to believe it, but she was sure Harry hadn't. Even then, she'd been aware of how hurt he'd been by her words. She had sounded the death knell to any intimate relationship they may have had. If she was being honest with herself, a year ago, just after Ros had died, Ruth had been afraid of the prospect of a sexual relationship with Harry. He was so vibrant and alive, and she had felt confronted by his immense need of her, and perhaps, if she was being honest, dead inside. Too many people had died, and were she to allow all her feelings of loss to surface, she was afraid she'd begin to cry, never to stop. The deaths she had experienced also brought her face-to-face with the prospect that Harry could well be the next one to go, and she could not imagine a world, did not wish to live in a world without him in it. What she now knew was that yes, Harry was a sexual being, but so was she. She just hadn't known how much until they'd been thrown together in the kitchen at the Russian embassy after the bomb's devastation. Her body was already vibrating with the memory, along with her expectations of what the night would bring.

Ruth had only just finished setting the table for their meal when her doorbell rang. She checked her appearance in the mirror in her hallway before she opened the door. There on her doorstep stood this beautiful man whose love she had denied herself for far too long. He was dressed in fresh clothes – black pants, white open-necked shirt, and a light grey casual jacket – and his hair was still damp from the shower, so that it sat in curls all over his scalp. In one hand he carried dinner, and a bunch of flowers, while the other carried his fresh clothes for the next day, and under that arm he held a bottle of wine. She wanted to take his hand and drag him upstairs immediately, but she took the carry bag of dinner as well as the flowers he offered, and then his kiss.

"Hi," he said, after taking his lips from hers.

"Hi. Come in, Harry. I'll put these in some water. They're lovely."

"Is it alright with you if I just hang these over the balustrade?" he asked, standing at the foot of the stairs with his clothes. Ruth nodded her reply.

The awkwardness of this fresh new situation in which they found themselves took only a short time to thaw, as it had when they'd gone out to dinner together five years earlier. They'd lived through so much together, and they knew one another so well, but their personal relationship had always been awkward. There had always been so much left unspoken or never finished, never fully resolved. Tonight Ruth was determined for it to be different, because this is what they deserved. They had had at least five years – maybe longer – of appreciating one another from a safe distance. It was time to move from appreciation and circumnavigation to engaging, embracing, and enmeshing. Yes, Ruth was ready at last for her life to become enmeshed with Harry's, in every way there was.

They ate accompanied by sounds of lustful enjoyment of the food.

"Mmm," Ruth commented, "I just love fish and chips. What happened to the Cambodian food you'd promised?"

"The place closed down since I was there last. Pity though, you would have liked it."

"I would never have placed you as enjoying south-east Asian cuisine, Harry."

Harry replied by sitting back in his chair and patting his stomach. "I like all food, Ruth. Isn't it obvious?"

Ruth smiled at him, and Harry was surprised to see appreciation in her eyes as she glanced at his stomach.

"Don't sell yourself short, Harry. Your middle-age spread is more than a little bit sexy. Trust me. We mature women like a man who displays healthy appetites."

Harry's face showed the shock he felt at her words. It was clear she was not talking about food.

"Don't look so surprised, Harry. I also have my appetites, and I'm no longer ashamed of them."

"So I've noticed." He took his eyes from hers in order to take a sip of his wine, and to give himself some thinking time. "So," he began, "other than the bombing rearranging your synapses, what else has changed for you to suddenly be so -"

"Wanton?"

"I was thinking more of being open to having a relationship with me. The old Ruth would never have invited me back to her place for..."

"Sex, Harry. I invited you here tonight so that we can make love, because we both need it, and chances are if we don't, we'll be crawling up the walls and shouting at our co-worker. The meal beforehand is little more than a ruse."

Catching her eye, Harry smiled at her honesty. "Something changed you, Ruth. It wasn't just the bombing. What changed your mind? Obviously something did."

Ruth took her time in answering. He was getting used to these silences of hers. In the past her silences had unsettled him, as he'd assumed that this was her way of communicating her hesitation, and ultimately her rejection of him.

"It was something Lucas said, when he kidnapped me. I told him that you'd asked me to marry you, and that I'd turned you down. I wouldn't have taken Lucas for a romantic, but he said that I should be brave, think of myself for a change, and say yes. He said that if I loved you, I should reward myself by doing something about it."

"But that was – how many months ago?"

"Four, almost five months ago. I took my time, I know, but the bombing expedited the process. As we dived under that bench in the embassy kitchen, my thoughts were: _If we get out of this alive, I'm going to shag Harry's brains out."_

"Jesus, Ruth. Why didn't you share that with me at the time?"

"But I did. I did something I'd never done before – I acted on impulse. When I ran my hands over your body, I was sharing with you the decision I'd made."

He could feel his body heat spreading from his groin outwards. "And I'm glad you did," was all he managed to say.

They'd finished eating, and Harry had poured the last of the bottle of Hardys Nottage Hill Chardonnay into their glasses, when Ruth changed the subject back to work.

"Harry, I have the feeling you're holding back about what Towers said to you after the bombing. I know he'd be displeased about us being seen together on the news."

"Displeased is right. Mostly, he gave me a bollocking about taking you in there with me. `Completely unnecessary', and `endangering the life of a valuable member of staff' were the words he used. He couldn't understand how I could deliver that report to the inquiry on how valuable you are to the British security services, only to then put your life in danger by taking you into the embassy."

"Did you tell him that it had been my idea to accompany you?"

"No, I didn't. I didn't want to -"

"Make it sound like I had a death wish, or was at the very least unstable of mind?"

"Something like that, yes."

"Harry, you were protecting me!"

"I guess so," he replied, looking mildly uncomfortable.

Ruth smiled at him across the table, and Harry's heart melted.

"But he did mention that us being seen together publicly looking..."

"As though we meant something to one another?"

"Yes. He pointed out that you being seen with me like that can potentially be dangerous for you."

"I already know that, Harry. I've already experienced the consequences of being close to you. Lucas kidnapped me because of it, and I expect that won't be the last time."

"Don't say that," Harry said.

"It's true. It's something we both live with, and will continue to live with."

"I don't think I could bear it if it happened again. I was beside myself when Lucas took you." He stared into his wine glass for a while, remembering one of the bad times, and then he continued. "Towers has a soft spot for you, Ruth, and I can't blame any man for that, can I? He went on about the whole world being able to see that the chief of anti-terrorism in MI5 is – sorry for this, but these were his words – fucking his analyst. He was somewhat …... irrationally annoyed."

"How could he know that from seeing us on the news?"

"He couldn't of course, he was just theorising. I think he's jealous. He can't figure out why you would choose a rough diamond like me over him, with him being as smooth as..."

"A slimy snake's underbelly?" Ruth finished his simile, looking quite pleased with herself. She then looked up at Harry, apology in her eyes. "I probably made that worse today. He rang me to ask me to dinner tomorrow night, as he has an offer put to me. I said all my nights are booked up, but I'll meet him in his office tomorrow."

"He wouldn't have liked having a dinner invitation turned down," Harry observed.

"No man would," Ruth said.

Their eyes met across the table, their thoughts of another dinner invitation – one from five years earlier – which she had also turned down, but for different reasons.

"Harry, I'm sorry I didn't go to dinner with you again …... back then. I can't believe that I was so -"

"It's water under the bridge, Ruth. We're here now. Let's enjoy this without regrets. We can't take back the past. We only have now, so let's ... make the most of it."

She nodded at him, smiling slightly, relieved that he was no longer hurt by her apparent rejection of him five years ago.

"Do you want to work for him, then? He'll pay you well, and your working conditions will be better."

"I don't know if that's why he wants to see me, but if it is, I'll have to give it serious thought."

"Yes, you will," Harry replied. "You'll be safer working for him. He won't take you into buildings which are about to blow up."

"That's true," Ruth mused. "Harry -" she continued, "there's something else I need to tell you. I think you should know that a couple of weeks ago – before the Russian embassy was bombed – I put in an offer on a cottage in the country. It's in Suffolk, and it's quite close to the coast. It's lovely. It has two bedrooms - the smaller of the two is just the right size for an office. I should hear back from the estate agent within a week. When I looked at it I was thinking of it for myself, but now... it could be for both of us ... if …... if that's what you'd like. When you are ready to retire, you have somewhere to go, somewhere to be. I can work for Towers and earn enough to keep us quite well. And you'll have your pension on top of that."

Ruth was aware she'd just taken a giant leap forward, and a leap of faith at that. She'd just thrown into the mix, into their burgeoning, intensely delicate, still newly budding relationship, the equivalent of the Big Bang. He was saying nothing, and she wondered if she'd destroyed their chance of happiness together before they'd properly begun. Had she gone too far? She looked up at him, sitting across the table from her. His eyes were dark and alight with …... something …... which she found difficult to define. He was looking at her like she was someone he either needed to kiss, or to kill. With Harry she could not always be sure.

"Say something, Harry."

When he began speaking, his voice was quiet, almost a whisper. "I think we should apply as soon as possible for our week off together, and head for Suffolk. We can get acquainted with the area. Actually, that's just an excuse. We need to book into a quiet little hotel not too far from your house, and we need to make love as often as we can physically manage. I'll do my best, but you're aware of how old I am... and what that means …... for us. We need to get away for a while, Ruth. You and I – we both need it."

Ruth felt her cheeks burning with the intensity of his words and his gaze. She stood, and took their dishes and piled them into the sink. She was finding it difficult to keep up with the pace at which things with Harry were now moving. She heard him get up from his chair and carry the rest of their dishes and cutlery to the sink, and standing beside her, he helped her to stack them tidily. Without a word, he then stepped behind her, and she felt his arms slip around her waist, and then his lips found a soft spot on her neck. She leaned back and sighed heavily, allowing herself to sink back against his body. In response, he tightened his arms around her and pulled her close against him. The heat of him burned her skin through her clothing, and every cell of her body was on high alert. Suddenly, she found herself almost incapable of words.

"Are you ready?" he asked, his mouth close to her ear. "Because I can't wait any longer."

Using all the self control she had, she turned out of his embrace, took his hand, and led him to her bedroom. It was time.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Note that this chapter is definitely M rated...just in case it's not your thing.**_

_**The use of present tense in this chapter is also a deliberate device to suggest immediacy.**_

_**oOo**_

_9 days after the bombing – evening: _

Harry follows Ruth as she leads the way to her bedroom. He is mesmerised by the fluid movement of her legs and hips, the curve of her spine as she climbs the stairs ahead of him, and as much as he longs to step up to her and back her against the wall, to lift her skirt, press his body against hers and push himself into her again and again, his rational mind tells him that the wait will be worth it. He's been half hard since she shared with him the decision she'd made at the time of the bombing. He's also been waiting for her for at least 6 years, so what is the worst thing that can happen if he has to wait a little while longer?

They'd already done it, of course, the sex. He's not sure whether what they had done together under that table after the bombing was simply sex, making love, or just fucking. For him it had been a bit of all three, but he likes to remember it as making love. Had it been anyone other than Ruth, he would have stopped it before it had even begun. Had it been anyone other than Ruth, he'd not have been hard, and he'd not have pressed his body against hers the way he had with Ruth. He'd been momentarily flummoxed by the Ruth who had taken charge that afternoon after the bomb had gone off. It had been such a change for him to follow where another led. Had she not led from the front that afternoon, he would have done nothing more than to hold her close to him, hoping she'd not be too offended by his erection pressing against her. To hold her like that had been almost enough for him, despite his transparent want for more. She'd taken charge again, both in inviting him here tonight – for sex, that had been made quite clear – and in her suggestion they share her house in the country. Perhaps the shock of the bombing _had_ realigned something inside her, and if that was so, he is in a way thankful that the bombing had occurred, notwithstanding the tragedy of unnecessary loss of life.

Ruth's bedroom reflects her personality, as he knew it would. Her bed is covered in a patchwork quilt of many colours, some of which clash in Harry's perception of the order and rules of colour combining. For instance, he would never put orange, red, yellow, green and pale blue together, but her quilt is a chaotic hotchpotch of all five, bound together with a broad black border. Nor would he ever share this opinion with her, as that would be impolite, but were he to, she would no doubt say: _Where's your spirit of adventure, Harry?_ The room is small, and the bed large, while under the window is a comfortable armchair on which books are strewn. Books are piled on the floor near the chair, as well as on the small table beside the bed. In the corner between the far wall and the bed is a chunky wooden wardrobe with the door leaning open, revealing Ruth's clothing, much of which he'd already seen her wearing at some time during the two years since she'd returned from Cyprus. Seeing his eyes move to it, she quickly closes the wardrobe door and turns on the lamp which sits on the bedside table.

"Harry, you're closer to the light switch. Could you turn the light off? The lamp will throw just enough light."

He does as she asks. Suddenly he's nervous, and he doesn't know why. Ruth appears to be again taking charge, which leaves him feeling uncharacteristically unsure of his role in this encounter with her. Should he just let her determine everything about tonight's lovemaking? They are standing apart, she on one side of the bed, and he on the other, and he has a sense that she's still fighting an urge to run from him. She ran from him at the table after he'd suggested they should take a week's leave together in Suffolk; she'd stood up and started clearing the table. It has been her default behaviour for so long she is no doubt unaware of even doing it, and suddenly the prospect of him perhaps having to chase after her for another five years wearies him.

Deciding that action beats inaction, he slips off his shoes and socks, and tosses his jacket aside, and climbs in under the quilt and duvet, pulling the covers up to his chin. Ruth stares at him like he'd broken some fundamental house rule.

"Harry, that's my side of the bed."

"It's mine now. Come on in, and cuddle up to me," he adds, patting the quilt on the side of the bed on which Ruth is standing. "Besides, I should be closest to the door."

"Why?"

"To protect you, in case -"

"In case robbers or rapists or terrorists or -"

"Bad guys -"

"Bad guys, Harry? _Bad_ guys?"

"It's my job to keep the bad guys away, so I should sleep on the side closest the door."

"What if they climb in through the window?"

"_Ru-uth_! Get into bed with me. I thought you wanted to -"

"Shag you until you require resuscitation?"

"Yes, if you like." Harry smiles at her as she slips off her shoes and kicks them under the bed, and then removes her overshirt. She is about to take off her skirt, when he reaches for her.

"Come here," he says. "Let me help." _Stop running, Ruth. I need to touch you, to hold you, to feel your body against mine._

Ruth climbs on to the bed and kneels next to him, her skirt billowing around her. Here she sits, his bold, earthy, sexy Ruth, and perched on the bed like this she could be mistaken for the innocent poster child for a dairy company, or a brand of soap – butter, yoghurt or Pears anyone? He lifts himself up until he is leaning on one elbow, and then he slowly moves his hand under the hem of her skirt until he touches her skin. With his fingers he gently caresses her outer thigh, and her eyes hold his, almost as though she is daring him to explore further. She then fumbles with the button of her skirt until he reaches out with both hands and quickly frees the button, and then the zip, so that she can push the skirt down over her hips.

"Come in under the covers," he says. "Lie next to me."

Ruth doesn't need asking a second time. She tumbles under the duvet, letting a blast of cold air in as she does so. He puts both arms around her and pulls her to his side until her head rests under his chin.

"Ruth,"

"Hmm?"

"Have you noticed that we're beginning to -"

"Finish one another's sentences?"

"Yes. I wonder what that means."

"Dimitri says we've been doing it for as long as he's known us."

"How did that particular conversation even begin, Ruth?"

"I can't remember. It was just an observation he made about us. It was after a team debriefing last year, and apparently you and I had been sitting side-by-side at the meeting, finishing one another's sentences. Everyone has noticed. They all think we've been having sex for years, you know."

"I know. Are you warm?" he asks.

"Not really. I need warming up." She turns her face towards him, and he wraps both his arms around her and meets her mouth with his. Their kiss begins gently enough, soft lips on soft lips, gentle exploration of tongue on tongue, soft moaning from two throats, but then the years of self-denial soon catch up with them. The kiss becomes hungry and raw and deep and demanding, a clash of lips and tongues and teeth and hot breath. Ruth rakes her nails across his sides and down his back to where her hands meet the waistband of his pants, while his hands travel down her back, over her buttocks, and to her upper thighs. They pull away suddenly, both panting heavily.

"Are we moving too fast?" he asks her, planting light kisses beneath her ear.

"Not fast enough," she whispers, her voice hoarse, slipping both hands under his shirt collar, and caressing his shoulders. From there, she draws both her hands down until they are together against his chest.

"I love you," he whispers in her ear.

"I know you do," she says. "I should have let you say it that morning you came to see me off at the dock."

"No regrets, Ruth. We mustn't stay stuck in the past."

While they've been talking, she had deftly opened the front of his shirt. He leans back against the pillow while she kisses his chest, his nipples, and then all the way down his stomach.

"I love your tummy," she says between kisses.

"Come back here, Ruth. I need to hold you for a while. You keep running away from me."

"I've made a pact with myself to never run away from you again, Harry," she says, returning to his arms, and resting her head against his shoulder. "Running away is easy. It's staying and facing things which is hard."

"I know, my love. We both do running away rather well."

"I thought I was the only one who ran away," she replies.

"I have my walls, as you may have noticed."

"I have noticed. They're almost impenetrable, too."

"I'm trying, Ruth, I really am."

"I know you are, and I love you for it."

They lay together in silence, their arms wrapped around each other. Without words to come between them and distract them, to take their feelings and diffuse them into the air around them, their breathing slowly becomes heavier, and the heat between them rises. Her breasts are pushed hard against his chest so that their hearts beat as one. Each have closed their eyes, but are hyper-aware of the other. Harry lifts her head towards him and kisses her mouth with gentle, barely-there kisses. As they draw their bodies together - stomachs, hips, thighs, legs, feet - they became entangled and interwoven. They are content to lay like this for now, but it will not be long before the insistence of his erection – now nestled against her thigh – and the heat between her own legs will demand more, much more.

There is perfection in their posture – their lying together under the covers, their bodies entwined like vines, their hearts beating in unison, their lives joining together for as long as they both shall live. Theirs is a marriage of true minds which can now only be destroyed by death. Harry silently utters a blessing for he and Ruth, that they will be free to love one another without impediment or obstruction, until their lives on earth end, and even into the realm which exists beyond life.

Their kisses suddenly become deeper and more demanding. Ruth's hands run up and down his bare back, while he lifts her t-shirt, all the better to explore her skin. He is very conscious that she is grinding her hips into his groin, and as much as he loves this, _wants_ this, and would love to follow her by grinding back, it will be up to him to exercise some self-restraint. He grasps her hips and draws them away from his lower body.

"We have to slow down, Ruth," he whispers.

"But I don't want to," she pleads.

"Neither do I," he confesses, "but we must. For us."

He pulls away from her and looks at her, her pupils large, her eyes lustful.

"We're not in a hurry, remember?" She runs her hands over his face, his neck and his bare chest. She stops at the gunshot wound on his left shoulder. It is knotted and raw, and it looks sore.

"Is it?" she asks.

"Lets leave the past where it is," he growls.

Realising that while he will only have one climax in him on this night, and yet Ruth may have several, he lifts her t-shirt over her head and then quickly and expertly removes her bra. The releasing of her breasts brings a sigh from Ruth and a groan from Harry. He gazes openly and longingly at them, before raining a shower of kisses on her skin, from her earlobe, down her neck, and to one breast, and then the other, his tongue flicking each nipple, before he takes one nipple in his teeth and gives it a tiny nip. As he moves from one breast to the other and back again, his hand explores her lower abdomen, the soft skin of her inner thighs, and thence under the waistband of her knickers. His mouth then follows the path his hand had already taken down her abdomen. He slides her knickers from her body, and she helps him – just a little bit, because she is distractedly sighing with bliss. Harry is loving only her. He feels her heat with his fingers, and then his mouth finds her centre and he loves her with his tongue and his lips and his fingers. Her ecstasy overflows in not one orgasm, but several. Harry loses count. He loves the sweet taste of her, and he loves how her hips buck as she comes. She breathes out his name. This time there is no `damn you'. The words, _Harry, Oh, Harry _fall from her lips with love, contentment and wonder.

Ruth lifts her head and places her hands either side of his face. They love one another with their eyes. Harry quickly removes his pants and his underpants and throws them on the floor at the foot of the bed.

"Let me see you," she says. "Let me see all of you."

He slides up the bed to lie beside her. They are both now totally naked. His penis is hard, and he is more than ready, but he is not yet prepared to enter her. He wants their loving to be slow and languid. His dream is for when they are old together and prone to reminiscing, they will enjoy talking about this second time. They will certainly remember their first time, of that he has no doubt, but he wants this time also to be worthy of the occasional `do you remember when?' She reaches across to him and cups his face so that he turns to look at her. Then she kisses him lightly, her tongue teasing his lower lip. He feels her hand, feather light, slowly slide down his neck to his chest, and then her fingers glide down his body, over his stomach, to his pubic hair. He gasps in anticipation of her touching him – her soft fingers on his hard flesh. But her fingertips tease him by slowly travelling up and then down his inner thighs in a circular motion, before she gently cups his scrotum, and then to the base of his shaft. With a loving touch, Ruth grasps his penis and begins to slide her hand up and down. Her touch, gentle as it is, is almost unbearable, and a moan escapes his lips. He rolls towards her to face her, so that he can kiss her lips while his fingers play at her entrance, dipping in and out of her. When he lays on his back and closes his eyes and sighs, she knows he is surrendering, and now it is her turn to love him. With one fluid movement off the bed, Ruth straddles him, causing him to open his eyes in surprise. She takes his erection in both hands and guides him into her as slowly as she can. They both gasp as she takes the full length of him.

It is a long time since she's straddled a man – and it's even longer since she's wanted to. It is a position which places her on full and open display to her partner. Harry is the only man she would allow to witness her in this way, starkly naked, the joining of their bodies unconcealed. He is watching her, his face a portrait of love, his hands on her hips, his thumb occasionally drifting to her clitoris. It is then that she begins to move, and she takes some time to develop a rhythm. His angle, her angle are not quite the same. Eventually her movements match his, and she feels her climax swelling from within her centre. Requiring balance, she reaches out with her hands and grasps each of his hands in her own. She welcomes her climax as it pulses through her, and with her head thrown back she again calls out his name. He pulls her forward on to his chest, gasping his own completion, her name spilling from his lips as his seed spills inside her. And then they lie still, panting, breathing, coming down, their faces so close, their eyes closed, their bodies moist and spent. They each murmur _`I love you'_, because they can, and they do.

Much later, Ruth rolls off him and lies beside him. She turns her head to watch him in sleep, his face gentle, peaceful, untroubled. This is the man she loves, and she is glad. She holds a secret belief that she has always loved him, and perhaps she has. The few others she has been with have merely been for practise in preparation for him. All along she has been searching for him - her Harry - and now she has found him, she will never let him go. She can no longer bear to be without him. She reaches across to turn out the light, and then settles beside him, her face against his shoulder, her arm across his body. She silently asks that tonight the bad guys will not burst through her door. Were they to, Harry will be unable to protect her, as he is deep in the land of dreams. Within minutes she joins him.

**oOo**

_**I've stolen a couple of phrases – from a Shakespeare sonnet (116), and from the marriage ceremony, so I'm just acknowledging it here.**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**I tried splitting this chapter so that it's not quite so long, but it didn't quite work, so be aware that this is a longer chapter than I normally write.**_

_**Also be aware that I find spooky plots tedious, so my plot is a bit thin in the reality department. Although, TBH, Spooks itself never let a plot get in the way of the hyper-drama and characters.**_

_**oOo**_

_11 days after the bombing – 2.07pm:_

Hearing the distinctive whoosh of the pods opening, Tariq and Calum both looked up from their monitors to see Harry step on to the Grid. Typically for Harry, before entering his office, he looked towards Ruth's desk. Seeing it empty, he turned towards the two techies.

"Have you seen Ruth?" Harry asked them. "She's not answering her phone."

Tariq moved his mouth in a `search me' gesture. Calum was still not sure about Harry. He had on occasion wanted to tease him about Ruth, but either Erin or Dimitri had intervened, giving him dark looks, accompanied by barely perceptible shaking of heads.

Calum chose the most sensible, and so the safest approach. "She had a meeting with the Home Secretary, and she hasn't been back since."

"Her meeting was at 10 o'clock," Harry replied, baffled. "_Shit_," he added, turning towards his office. He imagined Towers, the unctuous twat, smarming it up with Ruth, offering her a quadrillion pound salary, and then taking her to lunch at some swank inner city restaurant, where the lighting is low, the food prohibitively expensive, the wine intoxicating, and the staff eminently discreet. He dialled Towers' mobile.

"Harry, what can I do for you?"

"Ruth. Her appointment with you was at 10, and she's still not back on the Grid. Can you enlighten me?"

"Unless she's been kidnapped by terrorists, Harry, she should have been back hours ago. She left here just before 11. Perhaps she's meeting a secret lover. You can never be sure with women." Towers smiled at his barb, spoken with clear intent to rattle Harry's cage. He didn't hate Harry, but he did envy him. Why a woman like Ruth Evershed was so smitten with him was beyond his comprehension, and would no doubt continue to mystify him for years to come.

Harry, resisting the urge to say, _but I'm her secret lover, and I haven't seen her since 9 o'clock this morning_, slammed down the phone, and put his head in his hands. He contemplated this dark side of loving someone this much – the jealousy; the gut-churning fear when she doesn't turn up when and where she's meant to; the heartbreaking sense of loss every time he imagines her gone from him – _again_. He stepped back on to the Grid.

"Where's Dimitri?" he asked.

"Under cover," answered Calum. "You sent him there."

"That's right, I did too. Erin?"

"She's meeting him for an update, but she should be back soon."

"Alec?"

"Harry, you sent him home yesterday and told him to stay there. You told him that his sorry arse was no longer required."

"Did I? I didn't mean it." What was happening to his life? How was it possible that only two nights ago he had experienced such indescribable bliss, and yet the next day he had spoken to Alec in that way? Well, Alec _had_ taken liberties with Ruth by putting his arm around her waist and speaking close to her ear, to which Ruth had responded by taking a step back from him, putting distance between them. Slimy bastard. He dialled Alec's number.

"Yeah?" Alex answered the phone with a slurred disdain.

"Can you get in here now?"

"I thought I was fired."

"Only temporarily. Oh, and there's one condition to your working out your contract."

"And that is?"

"Keep your hands off your female colleagues."

"You mean just the one colleague, I suppose."

"If you tried with Erin what you tried with Ruth yesterday, she'd have karate chopped you into a coma. How soon can you get here? Ruth seems to be missing."

Alec's tone turned from resentful to business-as-usual. "I can be there in forty minutes."

Harry sat back in his chair and tried to empty his mind of the fear which was gnawing at his gut. Less than two weeks ago, he and Ruth had been on the TV news, their relationship clear by their posture, their linked hands. There was potential danger as a result, but he had believed that with the Russian threat temporarily halted by the bombing, he and Ruth would be out of danger for the time being. He looked up hopefully as the pods hissed, but it was Erin, returning from meeting Dimitri. She knocked on his open door and stepped into his office.

"Dimitri has made contact with Johnny Grier," she reported, "but he has to take things slowly. Grier is paranoid, and Dimitri's not sure that Johnny buys his story."

"Tell him to be careful," Harry said, "and you be careful too. Grier is nasty." He sighed heavily before he continued speaking. "I think Ruth's gone missing. I confess I don't know whether to wait another hour, in case she's gone shopping or met a friend, but she's not answering her phone, and that's not like her. I'm also reluctant to begin electronic tracking until we have reason to believe something has happened."

"You look worried about her, Harry, and perhaps that's good enough reason to begin a search. Has Tariq tried tracing her phone?"

All indecision ended when Tariq called out from his bank of monitors.

"Harry, you'd better see this!"

Harry and Erin almost ran to join Calum at Tariq's desk. "I got curious about Ruth," Tariq continued, "and so I checked the CCTV footage from outside Whitehall after Ruth's meeting with the HS." He tapped a few keys, and brought up an image of Ruth walking down the street, a good two hundred yards beyond the Whitehall building, heading towards the river. Suddenly, a black car with darkened windows pulled up beside her, a back door opened, and in the next frames, Ruth is nowhere to be seen.

"If you like I'll trace the car and Ruth's phone. That should give us a starting point."

Harry nodded. "Yes, Tariq. Thank you for your prompt action. Keep me updated."

He knew he sounded in control. But inside himself he was screaming, _Please Let Her Be Safe._ Erin, seeing the shock on his face, stepped close to him and said quietly, "She'll be alright, Harry. We've caught this early."

"Not early enough," he growled. "The time stamp on her being kidnapped was 11:07am. Whoever they are, they've had over three hours to get away. They could be anywhere by now."

"I can get Dimitri to come in."

"No, I don't want that. Alec said he'd come in. He has experience with this sort of thing."

"Harry," Erin began, not sure if she was stepping over the mark, "perhaps I should take over this operation. You may be too close to it, too emotionally involved."

Harry turned to look at Erin, his eyes fiery. "It's because I'm emotionally involved that I need to be here. I have to get to her. Can't you see that?" He regretted snapping at Erin, but his insides were twisting, and he wanted to shout or to punch something, preferably both.

Erin wasn't sure she did see, but she wasn't about to question him further. His distress was clear. Harry was hurting, and she didn't want him to hurt any more. Perhaps he had a need to be closely involved in getting Ruth back. Her chief worry was were this to get out of hand, and something bad happen to Ruth, she didn't want Harry to be close to the action.

"I've found her phone," Tariq called out. "It's on Albany Street, and it's stationary. That doesn't look good. Sorry," he added quickly, looking up at Harry apologetically.

"Don't apologise for doing your job well, Tariq," Harry said. "I need everything you can find, even if it seems unrelated. At least we know in which direction they took her."

"Needle in a haystack, Harry," said Calum, somewhat unnecessarily. Harry walked away before he hurt someone.

.

Several miles away, but still within Greater London, Ruth Evershed sat in cold metal chair in a darkened room, her hands tied behind her back, her ankles tied together and to the chair, her eyes blindfolded. Her ankles and wrists hurt and her hands and feet were already numbing, but whether this was from the cold in the room, or her circulation being compromised by the ties, she could not determine. Her normally sharp mind was already clouding over, and she was aware of having become disoriented. She had no idea where she was, although she could feel hard concrete beneath the soles of her shoes, and a hollow echo off the walls whenever she coughed. Since she'd been bundled into the car, none of her kidnappers had spoken within her earshot. Suddenly, several men entered the room. She tried counting footsteps, but soon lost focus. She heard much shuffling and scraping in the room around her, until a voice said: _Now – turn on those lights._ She recognised the man's accent, and immediately felt her hopes drop. All her thoughts were of Harry, and so for the first time in many years, Ruth prayed. Silently she prayed for her safe deliverance from this place, and for Harry to be strong and to have faith in her need, her powerful desire to be back with him. She knew how hurt he'd be if he lost her. As her captors moved around her, whispering and gesturing amongst themselves, her mind filled with images of Harry from the day she left him on the dock almost five years ago. They had each believed they'd never see the other again. His face had been a picture of pain, loss and longing, mirroring for her all she herself had been feeling. She could not bear to do that to him again.

.

Harry was sitting at his desk in his office, staring out at the Grid, his stomach churning, when Calum called out from behind his bank of monitors.

"Harry! We have a feed."

Harry literally ran out of his office, and stood behind Calum, along with Erin and now Alec. The camera was trained on a white sheet, and then a man came into view and began speaking, his Belfast accent sending a cold tremor through Harry. His time in Northern Ireland had been long ago, but it had ways of re-emerging when he least expected it.

"Harry Pearce, I hope you are listening. You see, I have someone here who I'm told you'll want back. Just like I wanted me Da back, but of course, thanks to you, he never came home again. You remember Jack Mullen, don't you Harry? You cut him down like a dog, and I had to grow up without him. I'm Connor, by the way. I was ten when you killed him. Me guess is you won't remember -"

"I remember," Harry said into the microphone above the monitor. "I remember that he drew his gun and threatened to shoot my sergeant. I had little choice, Mullen. I'm sorry you grew up without him, but that was then, this is now. What do you want?"

"Call the skinny Greek guy off Johnny Grier, and you can have your lady friend back. If not, you know what we'll do. I have five men here, and all have been without a woman in their beds for at least a month. She's a nice looking one, your Ruth. I might even be tempted meself. After that, who knows?"

Erin looked across at Harry. His face told her all she needed to know. She was afraid he was going to punch the monitor. She could see his hands forming fists by his sides, and his jaw was working overtime in his attempt to swallow the string of expletives he no doubt wanted to hurl at Mullen.

"Whatever happens, we'll likely rough her up a bit. She's a bit too perfect as she is. You see, every time you look at her from now on I want you to remember that Connor Mullen was in town, and what better way to do that than to leave a few bruises, even a scar or two. You have until 6 o'clock to back off."

"Nearly there," Tariq whispered to Alec, who nodded.

"You have to tell me where you're holding her," Harry said, attempting to stall Mullen. "I have to see her, otherwise why should I believe you?"

Suddenly another camera gave a view of Ruth, bound and blindfolded, tears streaming down her face. "Don't give them what they want, Harry," she cried, before a figure emerged from off camera and punched her in the side of her head so hard that she fell, the chair tumbling with her.

Harry stepped back from the monitor, and put his hand over his mouth, more to stop himself from crying out in anger. As much as it had horrified him, he could not take his eyes from the monitor, now displaying only the blank white sheet. He could not stop the tears as they poured down his face. Erin had noticed, as had Alec, and both were watching him with concern in their eyes.

Silently he cursed his weakness, his inability to separate his private and professional lives. He felt old – past it – and he hated himself for it. He had become what he'd once despised – an old spy whose decisions were sullied by his emotions. If he was honest with himself, his emotions had been infiltrating his decision-making since Cotterdam - almost five years ago. When Lucas North – or more correctly, John Bateman – had kidnapped Ruth in exchange for Albany, his emotions had ruled all his decisions that day. His saving grace had been the ineffectiveness of Albany, but he could not deny that he had traded Albany to save the woman he loved. It had been another one of his Grand Gestures to prove to her how much he loved her. He wiped his hand across his eyes.

"Got it!" Tariq said, trying not to shout. "Here's the address, Alec. Camden. I'll get on to CO19, and perhaps Dimitri needs to be called away, just this once."

"When did you become Section Chief, Tariq?" Alec said, grabbing the piece of paper Tariq thrust at him.

"Just doin' my job, man," Tariq replied, grinning up at Alec, patently pleased with the older man's sideways compliment.

"I'm coming with you," Harry said to Alec.

"You'll have to stay in the background, Harry. You're too involved. Until we have Ruth, Mullen still holds most of the cards." Harry knew that Alec was right.

Alec then quickly left the Grid, while Erin and Harry followed.

.

Ruth's captors had roughly lifted her chair so that she was again sitting upright, but now with only Liam for company. Despite the punch in the head, she felt remarkably clear-headed. Her head ached only a little, but she was also aware of the temporary healing power of adrenalin. She heard the shots before she saw anything. She hoped her prayers had been answered over those of her captors. Liam – little more than a boy, really – stayed with her, while the others ran out of the room. She counted seven shots, then shouting – in English accents. _Please let that be Harry, _she pleaded silently, to whomever may be listening.

"Remove my blindfold, Liam. I want to see."

"Shutup."

"They're about to leave you here, you know. You'll be left to take the punishment -"

"Shutup, _shutup_." Ruth felt a pistol being placed at her temple. Feeling Liam's nervousness through the pistol barrel he held at her head, she decided to say nothing more.

Suddenly, from somewhere within the room a shot rang out, and she heard Liam's body hit the floor, and his gun clatter to the ground.

"Ruth, are you alright?"

Ruth breathed out heavily as she realised it was _her_ prayers that had been answered.

"Dimitri, I'm so glad it's you. I'm alright. What about Harry? Is he here?"

Dimitri kneeled beside her and gently removed her blindfold and the ties around her ankles and wrists. He looked into her eyes as his hands passed over her scalp, all the time watching her for a reaction. Next, his hands rubbed the deep marks on her ankles, as he attempted to bring the circulation back to her feet and lower legs. "Harry's outside waiting, but I have to check you over first."

"I'm fine, Dimitri. Just a few sore spots, that's all."

Erin entered the room, slipping her gun back into its holster. She stood behind Dimitri while he finished his examination of Ruth. "There's someone outside who'll want to see you as soon as possible," Erin said quietly. "Di, you and I had better check the men who are down. This one," indicating Liam, "is still breathing. We'll need him alive, if possible."

.

Harry had watched from the sidelines, something he was not used to doing. He continually stamped his feet on the ground as though he was cold; in reality he was impatient, itching to be with Ruth. He didn't even want to consider the possibility of her being hurt or badly injured, or... They had both waited too long to be together.

CO19 had arrived before MI5, and had cordoned off the building, a disused paper-making factory, and taken it with only minimal gunfire. Five men were dead, leaving a very frightened twenty-one year old Liam O'Dell to be taken to hospital under guard. No-one else left the building until the officers from CO19 had checked all rooms in the building. Harry heard the call `all clear', and then he held his breath. He was practised at appearing impassive, but his whole body was shaking with tension and emotion.

The first to leave the building was Dimitri. Harry noticed the smile on his face as Dimitri caught his eye and nodded. The next seconds of his life felt like hours. Next to walk out was Erin, closely followed by Alec, his arm around Ruth. She looked weary and battered and shattered and scared, her hand shielding her eyes from the dim light of this grey day. All he wanted was to be with her and to hold her and protect her. He no longer cared who knew about he and Ruth, or if he was breaking all the rules in the aftermath of hostage taking. He broke through the cordon of police, and ran to her. On seeing Harry so close, Alec stepped away from her, and Ruth looked up into his eyes, squinting as she did so. She managed to give him a weak smile.

"I'm alright, Harry," she reassured him. "They didn't do anything to me. Just a couple of slaps."

He stepped the last couple of steps, and then, without thinking too much about it, wrapped her in his arms. Ruth's reserve, her control suddenly broke, and Harry felt her body let go of the steely constraint which had helped her endure her capture. She cried enough for both of them while he held her tight against his body, his face buried in her hair. Her hair smelled of dust and metal. Erin and Alec walked on, and waited by the car. However long it took, they would wait for Harry and Ruth. It had been a little less than five hours since Ruth had been kidnapped, but in that time, everything had changed for them.

Recognising their need for privacy, Erin arranged for Harry's driver to bring a car to pick up he and Ruth. "I don't expect either of you back at work for the next few days," she said to Harry after he'd settled Ruth in the back seat. "I rang the hospital, and they'll take a quick look at Ruth before you take her home. She'd may have head trauma, so we have to be careful. You need to stay with her at all times, Harry."

"I'm taking her back to my house," Harry answered quietly. "I'm not leaving her alone." He then slid into the back seat beside Ruth and closed the door.

Erin stood on the footpath and watch the car glide away and into the stream of traffic. Privately she had concerns about Harry and Ruth. It was now clear to them all that they were together, and that this was important to them both. She'd heard the rumours about them from the time she'd joined Section D. At first she'd thought the stories to be little more than the usual workplace gossip, but as she got to know them, she became aware of the strong magnetic force between the two of them, as like the opposite poles of a magnet, they were always drawn together. Experience with other committed couples had taught her that these two were far more than colleagues, and even more than good friends. Harry valued Ruth's input in all things, and it was clear to Erin that Ruth adored him, as much as she tried to hide it. Harry and Ruth clearly went back a long way, and shared history tended to bind people in a way that shared feelings could not. She had observed Harry closely during the afternoon, and she was worried that his personal feelings for Ruth had interfered with his ability to function effectively. The way she saw it, there was no room for personal attachments in the spy game, and when and if they interfered with the job, it was time for change.

The problem now being, should she talk to Harry about this, or go over his head and mention her concerns to Towers? She would give it some thought, and wait until Harry returned to the Grid before she sought a solution.


	6. Chapter 6

_11 days after the bombing, 4.43pm, the day of Ruth being taken hostage. _

Harry sat beside Ruth in the back seat of the car. His driver, Mike, had wrapped Ruth in a blanket, and she appeared to be lost inside it. He couldn't even hold her hand, as her whole body was enveloped in the blanket, and only her head stuck out the top, a beautiful butterfly still cocooned. He thought about wrapping his arms around her and holding her close, but he wasn't even sure she'd want that. As if she could sense his thoughts, she suddenly leaned across and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Hold me, Harry," she said. "I need to know you still love me."

He did as she asked, drawing her as close to him as he could, although the blanket provided a barrier between their bodies. "Of course I still love you," he growled "Why wouldn't I?"

There was a long silence, one of Ruth's silences, during which he could feel her weighing and measuring what she would say next.

"You once told me I was a born spook. But today I managed to get myself kidnapped and held hostage, so that all the available resources of Section D _and_ CO19 were needed to find me and save me. That's the second time that's happened in less than five months." She hesitated, but Harry knew she had not finished speaking. "I'm beginning to feel like a …... liability."

"Jesus, Ruth," Harry replied, "that's ridiculous. I – we would have gone to the ends of the earth to rescue you. It was Tariq who did most of the work, you know. He's going to be a really good technical analyst when he grows up."

Harry felt Ruth smile into his shoulder. "You guys are so hard on poor Tariq. I think he's lovely."

"I know you do. You think everyone's lovely." He reached down and kissed the top of her head. "I need to tell you," he continued, "that we have to stop by the hospital on the way home to get you checked out."

She sat up and looked at him. "No, Harry, no. All I want is a long hot bath, some good food, and then bed. I don't wish to be prodded and questioned."

"A clean bill of health is a condition of you returning to work. And I'm taking you back to my place afterwards. I need to look after you. I need to know you're safe."

He expected her to argue about this, to fight for her independence and her right to sleep in her own house and her own bed. All she did was nestle back into his arms.

.

At the hospital Ruth was examined and given a MRI scan. She complained constantly, but Harry would have been disappointed had she not. Ruth never seemed to want the attention she deserved. He was planning to change that.

"Ms Evershed," began Dr Chandra once she had examined the results of the MRI, "you've been very lucky. There's no serious damage to your ankles or your wrists, although you should expect bruising in the next 24 hours. There's also no visible trauma to your skull, and more importantly, your brain tissue, although should you experience any nausea, vomiting or worsening of the headache, then come in immediately. I'll give you some pain killers. No more than 6 in any 24 hour period. Other than that, I'd suggest you stay with her, Sir Harry. She'll need someone with her for the next few days. I'm going to recommend you both take the next week off, and after that, I'd suggest you take some leave, Ms Evershed." Dr Chandra looked at Harry as she said, "The psychological scars will take longer to heal than the physical ones. She'll need you to be there for her."

Harry nodded gravely, but inside himself he was skipping and singing. "Of course," he replied gravely.

"I'm alright, really," Ruth said weakly. Harry covered her hand in his and smiled at her.

.

_Harry's house: 6.55pm_

At his house, Harry ran a bath for Ruth, then he left the bathroom to give her some privacy while he went downstairs to prepare their dinner.

After putting the beef casserole in the oven, he climbed the stairs to the bathroom, and knocked on the door.

"Ruth – do you mind if I come in?"

"Come in, Harry," he heard he call out.

Ruth was submerged in the water, her chin just above the surface. Despite the intimacies they had already shared, the events of the day left him uncertain as to how he should act around her. While in the car, she had assured him that there had been no sexual abuse, apart from some taunting from her captors. It was also clear to him that she felt responsible for her own capture and kidnapping. What he did, how he treated her in these first delicate hours was paramount to her full recovery.

He went to grab the chair near the wall, but she lifted her hand out of the water and beckoned him closer.

"Come here and talk to me, Harry."

He ventured closer to the bath, not sure about how close would be considered too close. Would she mind him seeing her naked? He was a man, after all, and men had captured her that day and beaten her.

"Closer," Ruth said, eyeing him carefully.

If this was some kind of test, then Harry believed he may be failing it badly – yea, miserably. He stepped next to the bath, looking down at her.

"That's right," she said, "now sit down so that our faces are at the same level."

He obeyed her, removing his tie, then opening the top few buttons of his shirt. Ruth smiled at him as he performed these most everyday of tasks.

"I love it when you do that," she said.

Harry let himself slip to the floor, and he sat next to the bath so that he and Ruth could connect at eye level. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked carefully.

Ruth shook her head. "Maybe some time. When it's not all so …. so …."

"OK, that's fine," Harry replied. "I don't want to rush you. So, what did Towers want?"

"You were right, Harry. He offered me a job. Head of Intelligence at the Home Office."

"You should take it," Harry replied quickly.

"I'll have to think about it." With one hand she began flicking water out of the bath so that it splashed Harry's shirt. He grabbed her hand in his and drew it to his lips. "I want you to treat me normally," she continued. "I'm not made of glass."

"Will you promise me, then, that you'll tell me if ever I do or say anything which you find …... unsuitable, or makes you feel uncomfortable. I don't wish to hurt you any more than you've already been hurt." Again he pulled her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers one by one.

"I was worried about you the whole time, you know."

"You were worried about _me_? Ruth, you should never worry about me -"

"I always worry about you. You're so emotional, Harry, and you don't even know it."

Ruth sat in the bath, and Harry sat on the tiles beside the bath. Their eyes locked, and they needed no words. The day's events had changed them. Their love, their loyalty to one another had been tested, and so far it had passed the test. Harry took the hand he held in his and rested their hands on the side of the bath. It had been a difficult day, and there was so much they had yet to discuss. They each leaned back – she against the tiles at one end of the bath, and he against the tiled wall beside the bath at the opposite end – and closed their eyes. Despite his efforts to imagine something pleasant like Ruth's face as they made love, or Ruth's face as she chewed the end of a pen, Harry's mind suddenly overflowed with images from the day ... Ruth as she had been helped out of the abandoned building by Alec, the slight bruises already appearing on her cheek and beside her eye.

"Harry," he heard Ruth's voice, and he opened his eyes to see concern in her eyes. "Harry, what's wrong? You're crying."

"Am I?" he said, letting go of her hand, and wiped his eyes with both his hands.

"What is it?" Ruth persisted.

"What _is _it?" he said. "Today I thought I'd lost you again. You were gone for over five hours." He again felt the tears building.

"I'm sorry, Harry."

"What for? Ruth – darling – you didn't get taken on purpose. You didn't stand on that footpath with your thumb out, and hail a kidnapper. What happened to you was devastating to all of us, and not just to you, and not just to me. I know it happened to _you_, but we all felt so helpless. Had it not been for Tariq's initiative, we might still be on the Grid trying to figure out what to do next. When it came down to it, I was useless. I was so upset I could barely think straight."

"Harry, had the tables been turned, I would have been just as paralysed. Anyway, I'm here now. It all ended well."

"Yes it did. But we have to face the elephant in the room."

"Which is?"

"You got taken today because of me. Because of your relationship with me. Because certain people know that the most effective way to hurt me is to take you from me and threaten to hurt you. That, combined with my deplorable inaction today leads me to only one conclusion."

"What are you saying, Harry?"

He again lay back against the tiles and sighed heavily. Looking across at her, he waited, perhaps for her to understand what he was about to say.

"No, Harry, you can't. You can't let the bad guys win. You have to stay on the wall."

"Why? Until one of these days someone kills you? Is that what I have to do?" He suddenly sat up, his back straight, his grasp on her hand so tight it almost hurt her, his eyes blazing. "Is that what my job means? Because if doing my job puts your life at risk, then it isn't worth it. I couldn't bear losing you, Ruth, not after today, and not after all this time. No job, no matter how important, is worth that. I'm handing in my notice. It's time for me to retire."

Harry again sank back against the wall, while Ruth looked at him, not sure how best to respond. From past experience she'd discovered that a determined Harry was an immoveable object.

"Are you hungry?" he asked at last.

"Famished," she replied.

After an early dinner, Harry cleaned up after them and washed the dishes, while Ruth curled up with Scarlett on the sofa in the living room. The day's events had exhausted her, but she still wanted their evening to be as normal as possible. The last thing she wanted was for Harry to treat her like she was an invalid. She also didn't want him to feel he needed to retire because of her. She didn't want that responsibility. He was about to join her on the sofa when the front door bell rang.

"That's most likely Erin," he said, leaving the room to answer the door. Within a minute he followed Erin back in the room.

"I brought some of your things, Ruth. Harry said you'd need a few changes of clothes. I hope my choice meets with your approval. Oh, and Calum got you a replacement phone, and he managed to get your voicemail messages off your old SIM before he deactivated it – just in case."

"Thank you, Erin. That's very kind of you, and thank Calum for me as well."

"And she also brought us company," Harry announced, carrying Fidget in his pet carrier.

"He proved a bit hard to catch," Erin smiled, "but when I told him where I was taking him he seemed to understand. And I packed some of his food along with your things."

Ruth was overwhelmed, and gulped hard to hold in the tears. Seeing her discomfort, Harry kneeled beside her and grasped her hand.

Erin hesitated, assessing the situation before she continued. "Liam O'Dell had quite a lot to say once he came out of surgery. Grier had used Mullen and his mates as guns for hire, mainly to get us off his back, and of course, Mullen had his own axe to grind with you, Harry. Grier thought that a Northern Ireland connection would be more effective in changing your mind. So we have enough on Grier to haul him in. O'Dell has helped us locate him." Harry nodded before she continued. "O'Dell will not be charged with kidnapping because he gave us enough on Grier for us to arrest him, but he will be charged with something more minor, and he'll no doubt have to do time. Oh, and I took the liberty of ringing the Home Secretary to inform him of the day's events. He was shocked and sends his best to you, Ruth. I told him you were here at Harry's. I hope I didn't give away too much by telling him that. I think he might send you flowers, Ruth. He …..." She hesitated before continuing. "I'll leave you two to it," she added. She left before Ruth could thank her.

"That's so kind," was all Ruth managed to say.

It was barely 9:30 when they climbed the stairs to bed. Ruth was yet to see Harry's bedroom, and yet she was about to spend the night – and several more nights, it seemed – with him in this house. In a way, she had already moved in with him. All it needed was the rest of her clothes and her books, and she was permanently under his roof. She was not about to resist this if it came to it. She needed Harry, and she believed that he needed her just as much, perhaps even more.

She traded Harry's spare bathrobe for her lime-green flannelette pyjamas, and slid under the duvet – on the side away from the door, since Harry still insisted on being in charge of keeping-the-bad-guys-away. After his shower, Harry stepped into the bedroom wearing black track pants and a pale blue t-shirt, and lifted the duvet on his side before he slid into bed. They lay side by side but not touching. Through the mattress Ruth could feel the tension in his body.

"Harry," she said, "it's fine for you to touch me. I need you to touch me."

"I don't want to …. hurt you, Ruth …... after today -"

"After today, I need you more than ever. I need to know that I'm loved by you. I need to know that your love ….. is …... unconditional."

Harry turned towards her and put his arms around her, pulling her to his chest. She nestled against him, her fingers absently tracing along his collar bone.

"You know I love you, Ruth."

"I keep thinking about today …... and what if …... what if they'd – you know – raped me …... would you still want me then?"

"Fortunately we don't have to have that conversation. It's you I love, no matter what. I don't like talking about this."

"Neither do I," Ruth replied, "but I think it's necessary – a conversation we have to have."

"I love you whatever happens, Ruth. There are no conditions on love."

She snuggled into him, her head finding its natural resting place in the curve of his neck between his chin and his shoulder. "That's what I wanted to hear." She breathed in the fresh smell of him, and pushed the length of her body against him. She wanted to feel part of him, she wanted to be swallowed by his strength and his steadiness, his loyalty and his love for her.

Harry was not planning to make love to Ruth again until she was ready. He was used to waiting for Ruth, so if that meant they did not make love for another two weeks, he'd accept that, and willingly exhibit patience and control. It's just that Ruth had just pressed the length of her body against him, and despite there being two layers of material between them, his body was reacting in a way which was natural and healthy. He pulled away slightly, but then she pressed further, until his growing arousal was resting against her pubic bone. He was almost certain he felt her pull away slightly, and then back against him, only harder and closer. He almost managed to stifle a groan. "Ruth," he whispered, "don't!"

"I just need to feel you, that's all. I need to know for sure that you still want me."

"God," he breathed, "if you only knew how much I want you. I always want you. But I can't have sex with you tonight, Ruth. Not after what you went through today."

"I know," she answered. "I just want to feel you. It's hard to explain."

"Just remember that my dick has a mind of its own, and there's a point beyond which it takes over. I don't wish to reach that point tonight. I want to stay in control – for both our sakes."

Ruth pulled away slightly with a `sorry'.

"You don't have to do that," Harry countered. "Just don't do that grinding thing you seem to like …."

"And that you obviously hate so much -"

"Well, no," he said, "but I don't want to jump you right now."

"Tomorrow night, then?"

"We'll see." Harry was worried that Ruth was sitting above what had happened to her that day. She was acting almost as though she'd already put it behind her, and was moving on. Experience had taught him that it would eventually catch up with her when she least expected it.

Suddenly Ruth sneezed. "Pardon me," she said, and then she turned towards the side of the bed and opened the bedside drawer in search of a tissue. She had the drawer open and her hand inside it before Harry could stop her. "What's this then?" she asked, lifting from the drawer her torn knickers from the day of the bombing of the Russian embassy. "Harry, why have you still got these?"

"I thought I'd keep them as a memento."

"Are you sure they're not for -?"

"Ruth! What are you suggesting?"

"A man on his own, a pair of knickers, a happy memory, who knows where that might lead?"

"I have you, so why would I need to resort to making love to a pair a knickers? Put them back, Ruth. The tissues are kept this side." Harry leaned over and grabbed a handful of tissues from the drawer on his side and handed them to her.

Not long after, Harry turned out the light and again settled beside her. This time he turned her so that his body curled against her back, and she tucked her bottom into him. He buried his face in her neck, hoping their night together would be peaceful and without incident.

"You're keeping them?"

"What," he replied, "your knickers?"

"Yes."

"I thought I might."

"You sentimental old softie, Harry."

"Enough of the `softie', Ruth."

"Soft heart, but hard -"

"Good night, Ruth."

"Good night, Harry."


	7. Chapter 7

_**Thanks for all your kind reviews. I can only see there being one more chapter to this.**_

_**oOo**_

_13 days after the bombing, and 2 days after the kidnapping. Harry's house: 10.12am_

_Christ on a bike, _Ruth thinks_, why does he do that to me? _

Harry was up and dressed – black jeans with a grey v-neck jumper, the former of which displayed the shape of his lower body, while the latter clung to his upper body, and allowed her a free and open visual access to his neck and some of his chest. Shameless man!

Harry had had two restless nights. On the night she was taken hostage, she'd been woken by him calling out her name over and over. By the time she'd registered where she was and what was happening, he was half awake and crying, still calling for her. She sat up and pulled him to her, whispering reassurances. Once he was fully awake and aware of her presence beside him, he fell back against his pillow, putting his arms around her.

"I dreamed that you'd gone," he said close to her ear. "I looked everywhere for you – in every abandoned building in London – and I couldn't find you."

They went back to sleep, wrapped in one another's arms.

The next night, his nightmare was more vivid and his reaction more violent. Ruth was woken suddenly when she'd felt his body jerk beside her. "Ruth!" he'd cried out. "Where are you?" And then he'd begun crying quietly. Ruth held him to her until his sobbing quietened. "Don't leave me," he pleaded into her shoulder.

"I have no plans to leave you. Ever."

This is how it came about that at 3.30am on her second night sharing Harry's bed, she told him about her kidnapping and capture. From beginning to end she left nothing out, how she'd felt, what had been her fears, what the men had said and done, all of it. By the end of her tale, she felt lighter and freer, while Harry had tears rolling down his cheeks. Ruth thought it strange that she had been the one kidnapped, but Harry seemed to be suffering the trauma of her being taken.

Now that it was daytime, Ruth had suggested they get out of the house. Supermarket shopping was to be their first outing since they'd been driven home after Ruth's abduction. Ruth applied makeup in an attempt to cover the bruising which had appeared on her cheek and above her eye.

"I don't want people thinking we're in a violent relationship, Harry," she replied when he'd asked her why she was taking so long in the bathroom, which was when he stood in the doorway watching her. She looked up and, seeing him in the mirror dressed like that, almost poked her own eye out with her mascara wand.

The weather had turned autumnal, and rain threatened, but deciding that a walk to the shops would do them both good, they each wore coats over their clothing. Like many other middle-aged couples, they walked in companionable silence, Harry on the side closest to the road, for her protection. Suddenly, a car pulled up beside them, a car door slammed, and Ruth froze. Harry, sensing her reaction, turned to her, standing between she and the road.

"It's just a car, Ruth. It's a young mum and her kids. She's probably dropping them off at child care." He put his arms around her for reassurance, and he held her until she again relaxed.

"It's silly, I know," Ruth said into his shoulder. "I couldn't help it."

"Everything alright?" the young mum said as she walked up to them, her two small children in tow.

"Thank you, yes," Harry replied.

A few minutes later, Ruth was ready to continue. This time, Harry took her hand in his as they walked.

Ruth was on a road to discovery where Harry was concerned. Food shopping with a man had not been her favourite pastime in any of her previous relationships. Her experiences of shopping with a man had involved obstruction, boredom, and a lot of complaining – chiefly about the price of everything she chose to buy. Harry, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy shopping, and he was generous. Fresh fruit and vegetables, meat, bread, milk, and bottles of wine soon filled their trolley.

"That's too much for us to carry home," Ruth observed.

"They'll deliver," he replied, winking at her.

Their walk home was uneventful. Several cars cruised past them, and Ruth, although watching carefully, seemed reassured that no-one was about to jump out and grab her. She was enjoying being out of the house, and this gave her an idea.

"Harry," she began, "let's go out this afternoon."

"Where to? A movie?"

I'd like to get out of London for a few hours. Why don't we head north?"

"To Suffolk?" he suggested.

"Oh God, that reminds me, I haven't checked my messages and voicemail. Perhaps Suffolk's a bit far. I'd just like to see some green grass as far as the eye can see."

They'd barely stepped inside the front door when the house phone rang. While Harry went to answer the phone, Ruth searched for her new phone, and found it on the small table beside the sofa.

"Guess what?" said Harry, as he stepped into the kitchen, where Ruth was standing, her mobile in her hand, a broad smile on her face. "You first, Ruth."

"No. I can wait," she replied, "you first."

"Towers is coming around tonight to see us both. 8.30."

"Both of us?" she said. "Why both of us?"

Harry looked a little uncomfortable. "This morning, while you were still asleep, I faxed through my resignation to Towers."

"Harry …... wasn't that a bit …..."

"Too soon, do you think? I can't continue at Section D in my current capacity. It's not fair on you."

"What about what I think about this, Harry? I'd feel responsible for you giving up the job you do so well …... for me."

He stood away from the doorway and slowly approached her. "But, Ruth, I'd do anything for you. I'd walk across hot coals for you, I'd ….."

"Harry, I haven't asked you to walk across hot coals, _or_ to throw away your job. I don't want you to turn your life upside down – for me."

"My life was already upside down when I met you. You've helped me begin to turn it the right way up. Do you remember back before you left after Cotterdam? Ros barged into my office and told me my personal life was a joke. She was right. The job I do is inconsistent with having any kind of personal life." Harry stood in front of her, just out of arm's reach. "What was your news?"

"I just checked my messages. My offer on the house in Suffolk has been accepted."

Ruth smiled up at him, and he wrapped his arms around her. "See?" he said into her hair. "Things are working out as they should."

Ruth had never imagined Harry to be a man of spiritual bent. He'd always seemed so ….. action-oriented. What he wanted, he took. Perhaps Harry away from work was a different man altogether. She liked him any way at all, but philosophical Harry was nice.

_Somewhere in Essex: 2.57pm._

They'd stopped at a small village pub for lunch, taking their time over eating. Words dripped from their lips like melting snow – a sentence here, a sentence there, an affirmative to a question asked. They drank one another in with their eyes, each still astonished that this miracle between them had come about.

"We'll have to make do with Essex," Harry said. "There won't be time to go further today."

"Let's find a spot to park," Ruth suggested. "Somewhere …... private."

"Ruth, what do you have in mind?"

"Find a spot – before the rain starts," she said, indicating the dark cloud cover, "and then you'll see."

They drove for another fifteen minutes, looking for a lane, a grove of trees, and privacy. They found it at a lookout at the end of a narrow lane. The lookout was elevated to give a view of the coastline. Harry guided the Range Rover until its nose was close to a wooden fence. Directly to their right, level with the fence was a sign showing a map of the coastline, with pointing arrows identifying the villages and towns on the green blanket laid out below them. There were no other cars, it being a week day, and the weather threatening.

No sooner had Harry turned off the motor than the rain began. It teemed down in sheets, so that the windscreen was almost opaque.

"We need to climb on to the back seat," Ruth suggested, showing the way. While she searched for the blanket which Harry kept behind the back seat, he clambered between the two front seats and sat next to Ruth. Once they'd settled, she covered them both with the blanket.

"This is nice," he commented, snuggling down beside her.

They spent a few minutes watching the rain, and listening to it drumming on the roof. Harry had an idea what was on Ruth's mind, but he'd let her make the first move. He was staring out the window on his side when he felt her hand turn his face towards her.

"Kiss me, Harry," she said. It was more of an order than a request, so he obeyed.

Her mouth opened beneath his, her moans of pleasure resonating through his own mouth, and down his throat. He soon felt himself sinking into her, tongues, lips, sighs, all merging in this one very long kiss. He was hers, now, tomorrow and forever.

He was perfectly happy to just kiss and no more, this being the nearest they had been to intimacy in four days. Without breaking their kiss, Ruth grasped his hand and pulled it down to the hem of her skirt. He understood her intention, and from under her skirt he ran his hand up her leg, her thigh, and then he slowly travelled up her inner thigh until he reached …... her inner folds, warm, moist and ready. He almost stopped breathing.

"You're wearing no knickers," he gasped, pulling back from the kiss and looking at her.

"Don't stop, Harry," she said, her eyes bright.

Holding her eyes with his own, he began to caress her most intimate place, his fingers working dexterously around her opening, then in and out of her, all the while his thumb vibrated across her clitoris. Ruth began to squirm, then her panting became a full blown orgasm. Harry leaned towards her and put his lips on her neck just behind her ear.

"Now it's your turn," she whispered, turning her body under the blanket until she was almost above him. With his help she opened and pulled down his jeans and undershorts to his knees.

"We're not teenagers any more, Ruth," he observed, as she straddled him, pushing her palms up under his jumper until she'd caressed his chest with her fingertips. His response was a groan of pleasure.

She held his penis and with careful manoeuvering, moistened the tip with her juices, then she pulled away, then back again. He grasped her hips and pulled her on to him, and then began moving, back and forth, up and down. This was an act of sensation only, since they were both still clothed, and neither could see their bodies joined. Harry wasn't sure if the rain was suddenly heavier on the roof, or if their panting and crying out had become loud. They called out each others names, still rocking together, their expressions of ecstasy filling the confined space. Ruth collapsed against him, and they fell into a post-loving sleep.

When they awoke, the rain had stopped, and there were shards of sunshine trying to break through.

"Thank you for that," Ruth said, kissing his mouth.

"No," he replied, "thank _you_. If we're going to get home in time for the grocery delivery, we'd better get going now."

Ruth laughed quietly. "The grocery delivery. How domestic," she commented.

_Harry's house: 7.05pm_

Harry showered and changed while Ruth cooked dinner. They ate the chicken stir fry in almost silence. They were each aware of the `elephant in the room', and there seemed little point in discussing it further. Harry had been adamant about retiring just as Ruth had been adamant that he shouldn't.

By the time the Home Secretary arrived, they'd tidied the kitchen and were sitting down to a pot of coffee. Towers came bearing an enormous bouquet of flowers, which he handed to Ruth.

"Thank you, Home Secretary," Ruth beamed. "They're lovely."

Harry brought a tray with a fresh pot of coffee and cups into the living room, and served each of them in turn.

"You two seem very settled here," Towers commented. Neither Harry nor Ruth replied, so he continued. "Of course, I'm interested in whether you've thought about my offer, Ruth, but I'm just as interested in your resignation, Harry. I'll not accept it for now."

Harry looked up at him, his face registering the beginnings of belligerence.

"Oh, now don't be like that, Harry. I'll put your resignation down to the shock and upset of Ruth's kidnapping."

"There's more to it than that, Home Secretary. Even if Ruth works for you, she's still an easy target for anyone who wishes to – shall we say – change my mind. I can't allow that. It's not fair on her. It's not fair on both of us. Besides, I'll probably retire in two years as it is."

"So work out your two years, Harry."

"That's two years in which Ruth could be in danger. There's the Olympics next year. Who knows what threats we'll be facing?"

Towers sipped his coffee and very carefully placed his cup and saucer on the coffee table before he continued speaking.

"I have a proposal, one which hopefully will appeal to you both. I understand your concerns, Harry. They are my concerns, also. Don't make any decisions at all until you return from your leave. I believe the recommendation was two weeks leave after the initial week away from work. My suggestion is this. Should you decide to work for me, Ruth, I will make a car available to you to pick you up and return you home each day."

Ruth opened her mouth to object, but Harry silenced her with a hand placed on her knee.

"If you genuinely wish to resign, Harry," Towers continued, "I won't stop you, but I sense your desire to resign is all about keeping Ruth safe. While that is a valid reason, I don't wish Section D to be without you, especially with next year's Olympics being in London. I'm attempting to create solutions which satisfy you both."

"That's good to hear," Harry replied. "We'll give it some thought," he added, looking across at Ruth, who nodded her assent.

From there, the conversation slipped into generalities, chiefly the Olympics, and some of the hair-brained ideas being put forward by the older members of the JIC.

"They're talking about putting rocket launchers on the tops of strategic buildings," Towers mused. "I thought I was one of the more conservative voices, but that, as they say, takes the cake. We're in dire need of your practical approach, Harry."

Ruth saw Towers to the door, while Harry took the coffee things back to the kitchen. He felt her watching him before he heard her.

"What do you think about that?" Ruth said.

"Towers' offer to provide you with a car and driver?"

"Not that, although it was momentous in its own way. I sat across from Towers for almost an hour, wearing no knickers. I wonder what he would have done had he known?"

Harry looked at her, and seeing her expression – one of flirtatious come hither – he covered the distance between them in a few quick steps. He grasped her shoulders and kissed her hard, walking her back until she was caught between his body and the wall. He could feel her body submit to him, a soft giving in. As his hands lifted her skirt to reveal her nakedness, he lifted his mouth from hers and put it close to her ear, close enough to move his tongue around her outer ear.

"Do you think he would have done this?" he asked, pushing his still-clothed body into her, eliciting a moan from her throat. "Or this?" he added, running a hand up her inner thigh until his fingers almost reached her wetness. "No, I think this is what he had in mind." In one swift move, Harry undid his pants and pushed them down, then he lifted Ruth's legs so that they rested around his waist. With both hands, Ruth grasped his penis and guided it into her, so that he was then free to thrust deeply. He held himself there, without moving, until Ruth spoke.

"He might have thought about it," she said breathlessly, "but he'd not be a patch on you."

Harry laughed deep in his throat before he began to thrust again and again, deeper and deeper, almost as though he had a need to exorcise all thoughts of Towers from her. They both came quickly. This was a fast fuck, rather than an episode of love-making. When they were finished they rested themselves against each other.

"Bed now?" she suggested.

"To sleep," he said.

"Definitely for sleep," she replied.


	8. Chapter 8

_**OK, so thanks for the reviews and the encouragement, and whilst this is not the last chapter, it is definitely the second last. My next H&R fic is knocking at my writing door, and I'm looking forward to getting on with it.**_

_**oOo**_

_A hotel in Suffolk – 20 days after the bombing, and 9 days after the kidnapping. 10.42am:_

He stood under the hot shower, luxuriating in the almost-pain from the spears of water as they struck his skin, still sensitive from their love-making. He rubbed the shower gel over his shoulders, chest, and then between his legs. In that moment he felt he'd never again manage another erection, so complete had been their love-making. He had always dreamed of their first time being measured, careful and slow – oh-so-slow – and this morning, three weeks after their first time, they'd managed just that. His dream with her had come true, in a bed in a small hotel in rural Suffolk.

Ruth had woken first, and he'd been brought into the day by her fingers, feather light, caressing his chest and shoulders. He'd kept his eyes closed, enjoying her exploration of his body. She'd caressed him everywhere but _there_, and aware of his erection straining against the duvet, and his deepening breathing, she had continued to ignore him _there_. When she'd softly kissed his mouth, he opened his eyes to see her looking at him with what could only be described as absolute and unrestrained love and desire, a small smile playing around her lips. He'd put his arms around her and drawn her closer into a bear hug.

She'd pulled away from him and said, "This is to be our slow one, Harry. We have all morning." She was right, of course. They'd had enough fast fucks, brought about by events around them, like the night Towers had visited and Ruth had spent the evening knickerless. What man would not want to take advantage of a situation such as that? He now recognised that since Ruth had been kidnapped, he'd harboured the belief that she could be gone from him at any minute, so he'd better make the most of the time they had together, however brief that may be. He was still winding his head around the possibility that they may have a very long forever ahead of them, and he couldn't be more delighted.

He had come to the conclusion that a lot of what had been strained between them was a misunderstanding about how the other thought and communicated. When he detected her running away, it seemed to have been whenever he'd pushed too hard, or came on too strong, or suggested a course of action which she had barely begun to contemplate. In allowing her some freedom to determine the pace at which they travelled together, they had settled into a comfortable and natural communication. While he wanted to act immediately, she needed time to mull things over, and if they were to work as a couple, he would have to accommodate that. Ruth had a need for things to move more slowly.

So a slow session of love-making is what they had that morning, and it was even more powerful and memorable than he'd believed possible. He turned his face up and with eyes closed took the full force of the spray on his face. He then felt the air in the shower cubicle cool slightly as she joined him. He felt her body naked, her breasts pressed against his back, her stomach tucked beneath his buttocks, her knee caressing the back of his own knee. They even fitted together this way, as well as face-to-face.

"Good morning again," she said, her mouth kissing his shoulder.

"Yes, it is a good morning," he replied. He turned to face her, and in her face saw reflected the same post-loving wonderment he felt. "The best yet."

"With many more to come, I hope," she said, her hands against his stomach, her mouth kissing the hollow in his neck. Ruth's hands took a trip southwards, and with one hand she cupped his balls, while her thumb stroked the underside of his penis.

She looked up at him in surprise. "That's never happened in the three weeks we've been together," she commented.

"You've killed it," he said, looking down at her thumb still attempting to stroke some life back into his flaccid penis . "It's dead, and you killed it, Ruth."

She put both arms around his neck and pulled his mouth to hers. "What will it take to revive it then?"

"My dick and I need rest. That's all. You're trying to revive a 57 year old penis, Ruth. I'm a limited man in ways other than emotionally." He kissed her back, then stepped away from her and out of the shower. "We have to be at the cottage in forty minutes."

He thought he heard her say, _Bloody military men_, but he couldn't be sure. He grabbed his towel and began drying off.

_The cottage in Suffolk: 11.38am._

The estate agent had been ten minutes late in arriving to let them in to inspect the inside of the cottage. This gave them a chance to wander around the garden. It was overgrown, but held possibilities. An outdoor table in the back garden needed a coat or two of paint. They both imagined long summer afternoons and evenings sitting out there together over a glass of wine.

Caroline Baxter arrived flustered and apologetic.

"It's good to see you again, Ruth," she said, putting out her hand. "And I take it this is Mr Evershed."

"No, this is -"

"Harry Pearce," Harry interjected, holding his hand out to the estate agent, "I'm Ruth's partner, soon to be husband, I hope."

As he shook the woman's hand, he immediately regretted all the words he'd spoken after `partner'. They'd not discussed their future together, other than assuming they'd live together in his house in London, and in this cottage on the edge of a Suffolk village. Their future status as a couple had not been on the agenda – until now. He quickly glanced at Ruth, but she appeared not to have heard his little announcement.

The inside of the cottage was just as Ruth had described it to him. It would be the perfect weekend retreat, with retirement in mind further down the track. He had gradually come to accept that he should continue for a time as section head of counter terrorism at MI5. They had very slowly come around to liking the solutions which Towers had suggested. During the week they would live in London, and on weekends they would live in the cottage. If a perfect solution existed, this was it.

"It'll need a coat of paint," Harry suggested to Ruth as they walked down the lane and into the village.

"But it's only just been painted," she countered.

"The outside needs touching up."

"Oh, not the door. I like it how it is."

"OK, as long as you like it."

.

They took their time over lunch. The pub in the village was not busy, and so they chose to sit at a table which overlooked the high street. Expecting to have to eat a ploughman's lunch, they looked up at one another with a smile when they found the lunch menu to be as international and cosmopolitan as any pub in London.

"Chinese, Japanese or Indian?" Harry asked. "No Cambodian, I see. Pity."

"I'll have all of them. I'm starving."

"That's all that exercise we had this morning."

"Harry, how can you talk of exercise? All you had to do was lie there and enjoy yourself."

He smiled across at her, his bold Ruth, the woman who once blushed and baulked at any mention of sex. He would be happy until the day he died that he was the man she had chosen to open herself to.

"You did enjoy it, didn't you?" she asked.

"Immensely."

In the end, they each ordered curries.

"This is where we'll live out our later years, Harry," she said as they tucked into their lunch.

"Mmm, I know. It's strange, isn't it? I'd only ever seen myself living out my life in London until retirement, and then it was all a bit blank after that. I'd always hoped you'd be part of my life, but the harder I tried to draw you in, the faster you ran away."

"Oh, come on, Harry. You just asked the right questions at the wrong time."

"I never seem to know what is the right time. I just mention things when I think of them. Isn't that what you do?"

"Of course not," Ruth said. "I have to think about most things for weeks at a time. But I think I'm getting better."

"I think we both are." He took another mouthful and chewed before he continued. "Did you hear what I said this morning?"

"Before, during or after we made love?"

"Definitely after. When I introduced myself to the estate agent."

It was only then that Ruth looked up at him. He couldn't determine if the darkness in her blue eyes was from the dimmed light inside the bistro, sexual passion, or anger. There was _something_ there, of that he was certain. She didn't answer immediately, and as much as this frustrated him, if he wanted to be with her for the long term – which he did – then he'd better accept her long silences.

"Maybe you didn't hear me," he said quietly, more to break the silence which had fallen between them.

"I heard you. Harry …... how come you mentioned wanting to marry me to the estate agent before you'd mentioned it to me?"

"Ruth, I might be a lot of things, but changeable isn't one of them. When I asked you to marry me ….. when was it?"

"After Ros's funeral, Harry. It was right after we'd buried Ros. Over a year ago."

"OK, so it wasn't the most finely timed proposal ever made, but I meant it then, and I still mean it. I haven't changed my mind, and I won't. And if you turn me down today I'll still mean it, next week, and all the next weeks we have in front of us." He put down his fork and reached across the table to grasp her hand in his. "Ruth, will you marry me? I just want to make you happy, that's all, and I think I may be the man to be able to do that."

He saw in her eyes a moment of anger, then she softened, and looked at their hands – his large and square hand holding her small and delicate fingers.

"Of course I'll marry you, Harry. I've just been waiting for you to ask me again. I regret turning you down at Ros's funeral. Badly timed or not, I wanted you then, and I still want you."

"You could have asked me, you know," he said, still grasping her hand across the table. "I hear that it's the modern thing to be doing."

"Oh, I don't think of myself as being terribly modern. I've read too many Regency novels to be able to accommodate asking you to marry me. What if you'd said no? I wouldn't have been able to bear it if you had."

"Ruth, I've wanted you for so long that I have no memory of a time when I didn't love you and want you. I'm sure there was a time, but it must have been prior to recorded time."

"You can't possibly have loved me for that long. We've only known one another -"

"Eight years, Ruth. We met eight years ago, but I've been waiting for you all my life."

"That's rather corny, Harry."

"The corniest of lines are always based in truth."

They sat for a while holding hands across the table. Their food had gone cold, and the waitress came to ask them was the meal to their liking before they realised they'd been simply sitting and looking at one another for over fifteen minutes. They both nodded at her, and she walked away wondering whether, like her nan, they were both in the early stages of dementia. People that age surely couldn't be in love. Could they? To her, the idea was little short of being obscene!

_The hotel in Suffolk – later that same day: 4:12pm_

They'd walked hand-in-hand around the village, and so by the time they reached the Range Rover and drove back to their hotel, most of the day was behind them. They each knew there was still a lot they had to talk about, to arrange, to agree upon, but they had another twelve days of leave in which to do that.

"I need to ring my daughter," Harry said suddenly as he unlocked their hotel room door to let Ruth in before him. "I haven't talked to her since just after the bombing."

"What will you tell her?"

"What do you think I should tell her?"

"Perhaps letting her know of my existence would be a good start. The rest can come later. After all, she probably thinks you're still a grumpy old bachelor."

"Grumpy? I'm not grumpy."

"Not now, you're not, but you used to be quite -"

"Grumpy?"

"Unbearable is the word I'd use."

"That's harsh, Ruth."

"Maybe, but it's also true. You had a way of scaring the younger women who worked for you."

"So, how come I didn't scare you?"

"I could see through your grumpy act. There was a sad and lonely man hiding inside you. And I also found you to be quite sexy when you were grumpy."

Harry stopped searching for his phone, and stepped across to where Ruth stood, and kissed her tenderly and lovingly. "I love you, Ruth Evershed," he said, before he kissed her again. "Now, when I find my phone, I'll ring Catherine."

"Don't forget to mention me, Harry," Ruth said before she pulled off her boots and lay on top of the duvet, curling her feet up beneath her. "My feet are killing me," she added.

Harry found his phone in the pocket of his overcoat. He dialled Catherine's number.

"Catherine. Hi, it's Dad. I just wanted to check in with you, and also I have some quite momentous news for you. I hope you'll be pleased for me. Do you remember me mentioning Ruth?"

Harry looked across at Ruth and winked at her before he told his daughter about the changes which had flowed through his life during the previous three weeks.


	9. Epilogue

_**This is the last chapter of this fic. I feel the need for H & R to be allowed to get on with their lives without us `watching them'.**_

_**Thanks to all who have read this and enjoyed it, and especially to you kind folk who have taken the trouble to review. I have enjoyed writing this fic perhaps more than any other to date. I have thoroughly enjoyed writing Towers, a character for whom I find writing dialogue to be an enjoyable indulgence.**_

**oOo**

_The cottage in Suffolk; 16 weeks after the bombing, and 14½ weeks after the kidnapping: 11.13am_

Harry quietly and stealthily gathered the empty bottles and glasses, plates and cups, and stacked the dishwasher. The smattering of confetti on the carpet would have to wait until he fired up the vacuum cleaner. Knight of the realm or not, he was not beyond doing a little light housework. The lumpy figure under the blanket on the sofa rolled over, and he was faced with the bleary eyes of MalcolmWynn-Jones.

"Harry, you should have woken me. I promised I'd help you clean up," Malcolm said as he very slowly sat up and planted his feet on the floor.

"I'll let you press the _Start_ button on the dishwasher, then."

Malcolm smiled at Harry's attempt at humour. There had been a remarkable change in his friend over the past few months, most of it down to a certain brunette. The light which struggled through the window suddenly caught the gold ring on the third finger of Harry's left hand.

"Being married suits you, Harry."

Harry looked up at Malcolm and smiled. "It's Ruth who suits me," he replied. "Marriage is simply a bonus. And as it's been less than 24 hours, perhaps we should withhold our judgements for a while."

"If ever a couple needed to be married, it's you and Ruth."

"Thank you, Malcolm."

"Dad, you were meant to have woken me," complained a ruffled and hungover Catherine from the doorway.

"Princess," Harry said, her little-girl name rolling easily from his lips, "you needed your sleep more if you're to drive back to London today. Malcolm has offered to help here."

"Oh, hi Malcolm," Catherine added, turning to see the other man sitting on the edge of the couch.

"Good morning, Catherine," replied Malcolm. "It seems you and I have been playing gooseberry to your father and Ruth."

"Since Ruth and I were the ones who invited you all back here last night, you can hardly hold yourselves responsible for this marriage having not yet being consummated."

"Dad! That's way too much information."

Harry and Malcolm both chuckled at Catherine's discomfort. "Middle-aged people have sex too, you know," added Harry, "and I'll have you know, dear daughter of mine, that I'm enjoying sex far more now than I did when I was your age."

"Now _that is_ too much information."

"Would you like something to eat?" Harry asked, directing the question at either or both Malcolm and Catherine. Both groaned at the thought of food.

"I'll make us coffee," said Malcolm, standing and assessing his ability to cover the twelve or so steps from the couch to the kitchen.

"Coffee I can handle," said Catherine.

The three of them sat around the table, coffee in front of them, a plate of biscuits untouched between them.

"Where's Ruth?" asked Catherine after a long silence.

"Still asleep, I hope," replied Harry.

Catherine looked at her father over the rim of her coffee cup, wanting to speak her mind, but also not wanting to embarrass him in front of Malcolm. "She's easily the best thing that's ever happened to you, Dad," she said.

"Thank you, Catherine. I know that already, but don't think that -"

"This minimises the importance of Graham and me? I know how hard you tried to balance a young family and your work. I can't hold that against you."

"I know," Harry added. "I think of Ruth as the best thing that has come into my life along with you and your brother."

"Thank you, Dad. That means a lot."

"What means a lot?" said a weary voice from the doorway to the kitchen.

Ruth's entrance was greeted with hello's and good morning's from the three who sat at the table. She was showered and dressed, but she still looked as though she could benefit from at least another four hours sleep. She said good morning to Malcolm with a hand on his shoulder, then Harry, with a quick kiss, and lastly Catherine with a peck on her cheek. She sat next to Catherine at the table, while the two men sat opposite.

"I was just telling Dad how good you are for him," said Catherine.

"As is he for me," Ruth replied.

"I can vouch for both those statements being true," Malcolm observed.

"So," continued Catherine, "what's it like being married to my Dad?"

"Ask me that in around ten years, Catherine," Ruth replied. "So far we've been in the honeymoon phase, and that's been a joy. I find your father to be kind, sensitive and attentive. And I couldn't wish for more." She looked across at Harry, and for that moment in time, neither Catherine nor Malcolm existed for them.

.

After their small wedding ceremony at the village church in late afternoon, rather than taking their wedding guests to eat out, they'd invited them back to the cottage. Most, such as Ruth's mother and step-father, and Catherine's boyfriend, had left after eating and before the real celebrating had begun. Dimitri, Erin, Calum, Tariq and Alec had wisely booked rooms at the hotel. Bob and Merrilyn, Ruth and Harry's next door neighbours, discreetly slipped back to their own cottage at around 2am. Only Malcolm and Catherine had found themselves the worse for the long night of celebration, and with nowhere to spend the night other than with Harry and Ruth at the cottage.

Harry had set the fire in the living room, and with the connecting doors open, the whole downstairs was soon warm and toasty. Catherine left for London as soon as she was dressed, so then Ruth put plates of leftover food from the previous evening on the table. "You two help yourselves," she added. "I haven't the stomach for food yet."

"A little too much wedding cheer, darling?" Harry suggested.

"I think that I enjoyed myself a little too much," she replied. "It was so good to see everyone again. The social side is what I miss most by being at the Home Office." Ruth looked at Harry and grasped his hand in her own. "And you, of course. I miss gazing at you through your office window."

"Other than that, you're enjoying your new job, Ruth?" asked Malcolm.

"Yes, it's more like a proper job. Not as much fun – or as dangerous – but the money's better."

"And how do you find Towers?" Malcolm added, fully aware of Harry's thoughts on the subject.

Ruth stole a quick glance at Harry before replying. "He's a very good boss. Very professional. But he's a politician through and through." She hesitated before adding, "And he's not Harry."

"No-one can replace Harry," Malcolm said.

"Now you're talking about me like I'm dead."

"No, darling," Ruth said, "Malcolm and I were complimenting you."

.

They ate slowly, and with little conversation. With the three of them together like this, private thoughts always drifted to the past, and those who could not be there. Whenever he saw Ruth, Malcolm was always reminded of how she'd lost both George and Nico, and that part these events had played in his retirement.

"Oh, look. It's the first snow of the season," Ruth said, pointing to the window.

"That's why Scarlett and Fidget have taken over the hearth," Harry observed.

"There is something I've been meaning to suggest to you, Harry," began Malcolm. "As you no doubt know, I'm continually developing new security software. I've never thought to do much with it, because I have little need for the money, but I've been thinking. When you're ready to leave MI5, you and I could market this software to the private sector. There's so much that you and I could package and market to the private sector, and not just software. It would be a serious oversight were we not to at least attempt to create a small business from it. It wouldn't require much of our time – I'm thinking perhaps two to three days a week. I don't expect an answer today, mind you. I'm just throwing the idea out there. Now Ruth is working for the Home Secretary, you're freer to retire early. If that's what takes your fancy."

"What a good idea, Malcolm," Ruth said, smiling at him. "The work would have to be safer, too. I don't want to lose my husband to some trigger-happy gunman who believes his cause is worth the price of a few lives lost."

"It's good of you to think of me, Malcolm," Harry said at last. "I've committed myself to MI5 until the Olympics are over, but after that, who knows? I'll give it some thought, and Ruth and I will have to talk it over, too."

"As I said," Malcolm added, "there's no rush. I just think that the security services both private and public need to be using the best technology available. I'm updating my own software regularly, and I'd like to see it in use."

'

Malcolm left after lunch, leaving the newly-weds alone for the first time since they'd taken their vows the previous day. They curled up on the sofa together, Harry at the back and Ruth curved along his front, both facing the fire.

"Hopefully now can you see why I insisted we buy the larger sized couch." Harry reminded Ruth.

"I thought your idea to get a larger couch had more to do with the use to which you were planning to put it."

"Now, you see, you have completely the wrong idea about me, Ruth. You seem to think I'm some kind of sex-obsessed, genitally-focussed libertine, out to seduce you in every room of this house."

"I certainly hope so!"

Harry laughed into her hair and squeezed her with his arms. Ruth turned herself around so that her body faced his, and nestled her head against his arm.

"I think this sofa may be a very good place for sleeping," Ruth said quietly. "It's big enough for two, the room is warm, the company is …. exemplary …..."

"And I'm here also," added Harry, smiling down at her.

Ruth reached up to kiss him, just a quick glance of lips on lips. "You do realise that we had our honeymoon before the wedding?"

Harry nodded. "Lucky, aren't we?"

"Exceptionally," she replied, snuggling into him, hoping to catch another hour or two of sleep.


End file.
